


Attachment

by Oparu



Category: Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Pregnancy, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5886598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though she tries, Leia can't stop working, even with their baby due any day. Luke thinks she needs to start resolving her relationship with their father because of how their mother died. No matter what Han does, everyone wants something from her, so they leave for Takodana, and Maz Kanata's castle of smugglers because none of them need anything from Leia Organa, the princess, Rebellion general, or former senator. </p><p>Baby Ben's born a few days later, with a chorus of loving Force Ghosts, the last Jedi Knight, a Wookie warrior and his parents there to meet him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted a fic where Leia having a baby was the most dramatic, central thing in it, Han's there for the whole thing, Luke's helpful, and even the Force Ghosts realize that the young trio has a good thing going. 
> 
> Detailed descriptions of childbirth, and sex (because they weren't going to be able to have sex for awhile). 
> 
> Many thanks to shinewithalltheuntold for being my Star Wars fic buddy (and the angsty half of my brain).

Han forgets that for a human, he’s tall, because most of the time, he’s with Chewie and having a Wookiee tower over his head makes him short. Away from Chewie, walking down one of the fancy corridors of the New Republic’s temporary headquarters on Hosnian Prime, he’s tall, and fast, and people get out of his way. Anyone who wants to talk to him has to catch up first. 

He prefers that, even cultivates it by walking faster, because it lets him get somewhere without being bothered by political aides, who will insist on handing him things for Leia to read over, and military personnel, who will also pass him things to give her, because both of them have enough sense not stop the very pregnant former Senator-Princess-General Organa and give her more things to do in between the meetings that take up most of her day. It’s not enough that she’s still working weeks past when she would have made one of her staffers go on leave, or that the kid could arrive tomorrow, and she’d probably still make the evening meeting, because newborns sleep most of the time. 

It’s easier to hand things to Han, who’s not pregnant, not nearly as intimidating, and can be thrust data readers without guilt on behalf of the person trying to get Leia’s attention. He’s only overworked because he’s been trying to help her. His own duties mysteriously dried up about three weeks ago when it looked like the kid was hell bent on arriving in the middle of a logistics briefing. He didn’t ask Admiral Ackbar why his skills plotting the fastest, safest (from the remnants of the Empire as long as you were a good pilot, screw up and yeah, you’d be off the edge of the galactic charts, but not shot to bits, so _safest_ ) trade routes are suddenly not needed after Leia had a handful of contractions in the map room and they almost went to medical. They didn’t, in the end, they weren’t strong enough, though her eyes were damp and the way her fingers wrapped around his wrist insisted that ‘not strong enough’ meant ‘still hurt like a rancor bite’. That wasn’t labor, not the real kind.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, it’s not the military who catches him in the corridors now. They’ve quietly learned to solve some of their problems without either General Organa (he almost enjoys when anyone uses the Alderaan tradition of giving him Leia’s name because it lets him read and sign off on reports that Leia doesn’t need to read.) His suggestions are much more fun than hers. 

He’s caught more by the politicians’ aides who need something to keep their planet from being unimportant in the new order, or just have to get this through to make sure so-and-so is the next Senator from Darguilli. Wonder what he’d have to do to make sure they let up? Maybe he can arrange for Threepio to let it slip that Han’s filing system for unimportant requests is a quickly growing stack in the corner of their quarters that he likes to rest his feet on. He’s just about got it at the right height. Maybe the feet behind him will have enough data readers for him to finish it off and start another. 

These feet belong to Luke, Han realises as he catches up. Luke won’t have a data reader, nor will he be chased off by Han’s charm. 

“He wants to talk to her.”

Han sighs, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. “Hello Luke, how are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.” Luke falls into step beside him, and though he must have to nearly jog to keep up, he’s a Jedi, so he does it smoothly. The kid’s like that. “Our father--”

“Is the last person, dead or otherwise, that Leia wants to talk to. You know that.” He pats Luke’s shoulder, because it has to be hard to be the mediator between his apparently redeemed dead father and his sister, who’s just relieved that that father is dead. 

“He’s worried--”

“We’re all worried,” Han interrupts him as they make the corner to the stairs. The lifts are always crowded, but the stairs are blissful places of quiet. “Can’t he just settle down like a good grandpa and wait? Maybe when the kid’s a little older, like twenty, Leia will want to talk to him.” 

Luke smiles, and it’s almost that smirk he used to have, before the Force made his mouth so heavy and his eyes so deep. “He can hear you.”

“Great. Darth- Mr. Skywalker, look, Leia has eight meetings today if I can get her to cut the last two and go to bed. When she’s in bed, she doesn’t really sleep because your grandkid likes to wake up after the sun goes down, and he’s got a good kick, and her back hurts and if she’s on her side, that hurts and so does the other one, and it’s too warm, and by the time we’ve worked all of that out, she has to pee and I would go back to the carbonite casing you put me in if I could get up for her, but I can’t. So we go through the whole process of settling down and finding the one comfortable position that’s left, and she might sleep an hour before a communications operator accidentally lets a message through. Then we’re right back at the beginning, and the sun comes up and there are more meetings the next day. I think she was less busy when we were still fighting the Empire because at least when Stormtroopers came for her, we could shoot them. I’m not allowed to shoot Senator’s aides.”

Nodding through Han’s tirade, Luke touches his arm. “You can’t shoot them lethally. I think if they’re at your door before breakfast, you could stun them and no one would say anything.”

“I’ll remember you said that.” He heads up the stairs, then stops, turning to Luke. “She’s trying.”

“I know.”

“And she’s never seen this him, the person you say he really is, I mean, she hasn’t talked to him like you have, and yeah, i guess if she talked to him she would see him, but she’s not ready.” He’s not sure if he conveys the fear and loathing he sees in Leia’s eyes when they talk about her father, but Luke has to feel it. He knows his sister. “This is hard enough without him too. She misses her parents, and the doctor who took care of her when she was a kid who should be delivering her baby. You know how hard it was to find a doctor she liked? How many medical centers we looked at just on this planet before we decided that whatever we go, whatever we do, it’s not going to feel right because she thought if she ever had a baby, it would be home on Alderaan.” 

Han rubs his hand through his hair. Shouldn’t be so hard on Luke. Han hasn’t been sleeping either, and he’s already annoyed at everyone who’s not Leia for making Leia’s life difficult. “I can’t give her that.” 

“She doesn’t expect you to,” Luke promises, and his smile softens into the quiet, thoughtful expression he seems to live in now. He looks too much like Obi-Wan, and his eyes are too old for his face, because he is still a kid. “You’re good for her, and Leia knows that. She loves you, and doesn’t say that enough.”

Han leads them down the progressively nicer hallway towards the living quarters, walking through shafts of sunlight on the marble floor. “She says it.” 

“Not enough.” Luke pats his shoulder again, pausing and studying Han’s face as if there’s something there he can read like a tapestry. “Take it easy, okay? This is hard on you too.” He starts to go, leaving Han alone in front of the door to their quarters, which are probably empty, because the sun’s still up. 

“Luke-”

When Han’s turned, Luke is already facing him, because he’s an obnoxious Jedi like that. He must have felt Han was going to talk to him again and waited. 

He fumbles with his hands. “I’ll talk to her, maybe talking to your father wouldn’t be so bad.” 

“You think even bringing it up will make her so angry that you’ll spend the whole rest of the night dodging those data readers you’ve been stashing.” Luke chuckles, and yeah, he was just in Han’s head. 

“I dodge good.”

“You do.” Luke pauses, then tries to ease the tension he must be able to see like electricity around Han. “Don’t push her. She has enough to worry about. I’ll talk to our father. He understands.”

“it’s not him,” Han reminds him, rubbing his head again as if that will make him think faster. “It’s Vader.”

“I know, and Vader isn’t our father, not really. I know it’s hard.” 

“Yeah, okay.” He sighs, and leans on the wall, studying Luke’s expression. “You know, it’s too bad you can’t see her mom. I think she’d like to be able to talk to her.” 

“So would I,” Luke replies, and he nods, same smile, leaving Han to his thoughts. 

Dragging himself up from the wall, Han watches Luke go, then lets himself in to their quarters. The sun beams through their windows, lighting up the room with golden warmth. He’ll give that to Hosnian Prime, the sun is beautiful. He glances at the chrono and drops the reader on the table. It’s too early for Leia, by a factor of hours, and meetings, and maybe he’ll be able to pull her out of the last one because she’ll be exhausted. 

Dropping into the chair, he sighs then covers his eyes with his hand because he’s exhausted, and he’s not even pregnant. The sleepless nights were supposed to wait for the kid to actually make an appearance, but he knows when Leia can’t sleep and something about her stirring drags him up. He could sneak in a nap before Leia’s done for the day, but it’s a guilty pleasure because she’d never let herself. 

If only he had Luke’s way of reaching into her mind and making sure she’s all right without interrupting the meeting. Maybe she’ll come home early, but he’s not sure if he should hope for her giving up the meeting because she’s finally admitted she’s worn out, or for contractions, because they’re ready to meet this kid, even if he’s way too comfortable inside right now. 

“You’re home early.” 

He jumps out of the chair, staring into the corner where he’s been stacking the data readers. That’s the corner he gets for his junk, spare parts, blasters he can make better if he just had the right firing pin, and lately, all the work he’s been trying to handle for Leia, because on Alderaan he would be General Organa too, all right, and no one really looks or cares what the signature looks like as long as it says General Organa on it somewhere.

“Leia.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, holding up one of the readers where she sits cross-legged on the floor. She so cute down there, her belly rounded out in front of her.

Sinking down to his hands and knees next to her, he studies her face, looking for pain, exhaustion, anything he should worry about, but there’s only affection and a funny sort of confusion. “Tell you what?”

“That Senator Goskyllah wanted to talk to me about the artwork for the new reception hall, or that the menu for that dinner last week had to be only fish, or this work order for the landing bays that supply the refugee efforts.” She pauses, the drops the reader so it clatters on the others sprawled over the floor. “Han.”

He brushes his thumb across her cheek then takes her hands, wrapping them up in his. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Her voice catches on the syllables of the word, and her eyes are suddenly wet and okay, she’s not angry. “You didn’t have to.” 

Moving next to her, bringing her hands to his chest, he rubs a tear from her cheek. “You wanted to read all this stuff?”

“No, of course not.”

That makes him laugh, and he moves the readers aside, making room for her to come into his arms because holding her always helps. He hasn’t run into a situation yet that it hasn’t helped. Even huge with her pregnancy, she fits between his legs, resting against his chest and he kisses her head. “You work too hard, and everyone knows it, so they just give you more work because they think they need your opinion for everything, but really, one of your aides could pick out dinner, if you let them.”

“I let them.” She takes a deep breath, snuggling closer. Guiding one of his hands, she places it over the foot pressing outward through her skin. a few months ago it was never definable, but now it’s obviously a foot. Their kid’s foot.

“Not enough.”

“It’s not just me, you know,” she says, exhaustion seeping through her control over her voice. “Everyone thinks whatever they need is the most important, and that they should come to me.” 

“Most of them are wrong,” he mutters. Leia’s hand squeezes his. 

“Yes, but I can’t tell them that.”

Her little fingers trace the back of his hand and he gets comfortable against the wall because they probably won’t get up for awhile. Lately once they’re all the way down, it’s an effort to get back up and they’re both spending enough effort just getting through the mess destroying the Empire left. 

“You could.”

“Sure,” he jokes, and sighs, because even though she doesn’t admit it, she knows that even his war hero status doesn’t help with everything. Some of her petitioners won’t be put off by her husband, no matter how much she trusts him. 

“But why did you do all of this? You’ve been wanting to work on the _Falcon_ ’s sensors and do some racing, and you just said yesterday that you never have any fun anymore.”

“This is fun.”

“This?” she repeats, turning around to face him. Her familiar, wonderful, deep brown eyes are full of questions, and wonder. She gestures at all the data readers, at the mess. “This isn’t fun.”

He runs his hand down the back of her head, then smiles. “I love you.”

“Han--”

She’s not getting it, and as intelligent as she is, that makes it easy to chuckle. “I love you, and I believe I have some time off so I can spend it with you, so we can get ready for the little guy, make sure he has a safe landing. Not so I can tinker with the _Falcon_.” 

Leia looks at her belly, then back at him, and maybe it never dawned on her that his time off was for her, for them, and that as much as he loathes politics and all the maneuvering, he’ll play the game for her, because he loves her. Their little family is the most important thing in the galaxy, and if chosing a few place settings means she can sleep a little longer, he’ll do that. He’ll do that the rest of his life if he has to. 

“And you’re busy, I get that,” he continues. “But wading through this helps you be less busy, so you only have to read five things when you get home instead of twelve.” 

“You’re not one of my aides.” Leia says, stroking his face. She’s crying again, but that happens a lot and she’s happier if he just lets her cry without commenting on it. “You’re my husband.”

“I like to think that makes me chief aide,” he says, his tone light. He strokes some of her tears away, but that makes her face crumple. “Hey, hey,” he stops, lifting her chin. “That’s a joke, remember those?”

She only cries harder, shaking her head. “I love you.”

“Which should help my jokes be funny.” 

Leia puts her forehead on his chest, breathing slowly while he strokes her shoulders. “I’ve had aides my whole life. I remember one of my nannies teaching me how to make my letters look more like my mother’s, and the other explaining how I had to stand up straight, like her, that I had to share, always, because I could never put myself ahead of my people. I've had so many people look after me so I could look after everyone. That's my life." 

She looks up for a moment, tracing his collar with trembling fingers. "But you, you did this for me."

"I love you," he reminds her, lifting her chin. Maybe they just haven’t said it enough lately. "I want you to be happy, to sleep, to feel like you don't have to read through dinner." 

“I’m sorry.”

“Let’s go,” he says, ignoring her apology. Han kisses her forehead then meets her eyes, watching surprise pass through her face. “You, me, Luke and Chewie, because we’ll never be able to leave without them. We can go anywhere, the Alderaan colony on Espirion, Kashyyk or Yavin-- somewhere where no one can hand you or me any more damn data readers.” Snapping his fingers, he grins. “Takodana. Maz adores you, and she’d love to see Chewie. Her castle’s neutral so no one will even talk to us.” 

She laughs gently before she kisses him. “A smugglers’ hideout is your idea of a vacation.” 

“It’s the last place where anyone will need assistance from a person with your renowned talents.” He kisses her again, sealing his decision. “Come on, you can tell Luke he’s coming with us and watch me pack, and then we’ll take the _Falcon_ and just hide the from galaxy for awhile.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maz makes them all dinner, Han and Leia get to spend some time alone, without data readers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos! I really appreciate your kind response to this fic. :) Chapter three should be up early next week.

Chewie and Luke both insist on walking in front of them, even though they’ve never had a problem in Maz’s castle. Han keeps his arm around her back, because the rocks are uneven, and he likes to hold her. His mind settles when they’re touching. The air’s soft, humid and warm, which should make Han less worried. She woke up on the _Falcon_ , moments before they landed, his soft hazel eyes hovering over her face. Even though, he’d been then when she’d fallen asleep, and might have been there the whole time, she still had to smile at him to make that concern fade. 

He kissed her forehead, then muttered about her being feverish. Maybe she was. She’s asked much of her body before: sleeping badly, eating worse, pushing blaster wounds and broken bones to heal faster then they should. Her body heals well, always has, and now she knows how much she relies of the Force to accomplish that. She can’t push the Force the way she could before, evem though now she’s trained. Maybe because the baby is another person, and the Force flows through both of them. Pregnancy can’t be rushed, even when it seems like their child has settled in and intends to remain within her for another year or so. Something insists that the baby is fine, just not ready, so she’ll wait. Han carries enough of uneasiness for both of them, but Luke and Chewie’s optimism gets through. 

Han halts, looking up at the flags. His fingers stroke her side and she rubs her head against his chest. The stars hang above the fabric, points of white in the darkness, faded and distant after lightspeed. They’re gentler on planets. She picks out familiar constellations, tracing the way back to the Core systems and everything she should have on her mind. 

One of the scout groups is searching the Outer Rim for potential Imperial bases and she still has that nagging feeling about the Veragi system. She should ask for the scout reports. Kissing her forehead, Han drags her thoughts from far reaches of space, back to Takodana, and its gentle stars. Admiral Ackbar’s in charge of the mission. He can worry about the scout group.

“Maz said she’d cook,” Han says. “She loves to cook for Chewie.” 

Grinning at Chewie’s back, she nod. Keeping him still, she guides down his face so she can kiss him. That makes his smile reach his eyes. 

“You’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” 

His hand drops to her belly. Months ago, Han’s palm covered the the whole rise of her belly, and now, if he holds her with both hands their baby more than fills the space between his fingers. She can’t imagine what their baby will look like, because the holos of her birth parents are strangers and Han can’t remember more than a little about his. What does the best of him look like? Will their baby look up at her with Han’s eyes? 

Her birth mother was so beautiful, so wise, that she can’t help hoping that there’s more of Padme Amidala than Anakin, or even herself. Maybe this baby is a little girl, who will look like Han’s parents. They’re the people who made him, this man she loves so much. That would be wonderful. 

Especially his chin. 

She runs her hand over his scar, then turns back to Chewie and Luke. Luke’s smile could light the courtyard and Chewie growls something quiet and warm. 

“We’re coming,” Han promises. “We’re coming. Maz knows I make you late all the time.” 

Chewie disappears into the chaos of Maz’s main room, somehow vanishing into the colors and noise of the cantina even though he’s well over two metres tall. Luke waits, letting them catch up, closer to him. He smiles again, radiating the Jedi calm that lets him slip into crowds of anyone. 

“I like the music.” 

Han nudges his shoulder, then points to the left. “We’re headed upstairs.”

Luke follows that direction, clearing a path through smugglers, bounty hunters and other lost souls as if he was made of smoke. Han makes more of an impact, but seems to barely notice the stares in his direction. The Bothan in the corner’s definitely recognized him, so has the trio of Componi but Han’s much more worried that she has to climb the steps of the ancient staircase, and she hasn’t seen her feet in months. 

She’d be fine. She’s always been steady on her feet, but his hands hold her arms and he’s relaxed by the contact. Luke waits for them both at the top, and he shares a look with her. He knows how much Han’s life has revolved around the arrival of this baby, perhaps more than Leia’s because she’s had so much she’s been expected to think about. She’s with this baby every moment, aware of the tiny mind forming within her that’s only vaguely aware of her presence as the being who contains them. Her awareness is acute, all encompassing: her skin’s too hot, her breasts too heavy, and the growing ache in the bottom of her spine doesn’t let up when she stops standing. 

Maz greets Chewie with delighted laughter and they speak in Shyriiwook, far too quickly for Leia to make out any of it. For a moment the pain in her back flares, making her breath catch, and Han’s fingers the cover the spot a half-second after Luke meets her eyes. 

“You okay?” 

“Kid throws everything out of whack,” she answers, reaching over to pat Han’s arm and quiet his concern. “I’m fine.”

“Han, stop worrying,” Maz orders from her perch on Chewie’s shoulder. “Come, sit and eat. Leia is very well.” 

“I don’t think he’s stopped worrying since Leia told him she was pregnant,” Luke teases, dragging Han towards the table. Han sits, but he fidgets in his chair until Leia’s beside him. The heavy wooden chair presses against her back, cool and sturdy. The ancient table’s piled high with fish, roast game and brightly colored fruit and vegetables she only half recognizes. 

Maz always says that she’s had a lifetime to collect the seeds she needs for her garden, but there are still many she needs to obtain. The first time they met, she gave Leia a potted caraai flower. The tiny white flowers on blue-green stems were considered a weed for centuries, but they grow well, even on other worlds. She’s kept that one alive so far, and she’s never been good with plants.

“It’s a stressful thing,” Han says, watching Chewie pour the wine. “It doesn’t compare to being pregnant, I’m not saying that, but--”

“Han,” Leia interrupts, touching his arm on the table. The linen of his shirt catches on the calluses on her hand. “You’re wonderful.”

“You deserve that, better-” he starts to search for words, so she tugs his face closer and kisses him. 

“I love you, and I wouldn’t be doing this-” she gestures at her belly, dragging his attention to their baby, “with anyone else.”

Chewie mutters something and Maz laughs. “Yes, you have suffered terribly having to watch them behave so.” 

Luke just continues to beam at them, and starts to put meat on their plates. “This smells incredible, thank you.”

Leia lets them do most of the talking, she still doesn’t understand what Chewie’s saying most of the time, neither does Luke, but he must have some trick of the Force because he’s less lost than she is. Maz laughs often, and keeps filling their plates, especially hers. It’s delicious, well-seasoned, and some of the vegetables she doesn’t recognize, which is odd, because she’s eaten many things on countless worlds, but the purple roots are different, and she likes them so much that she takes them from Han’s plate while he’s talking about how Chewie saved him from being turned to Bantha fodder. 

It’s a good story. Han tells it well, and Luke has to know it, he must, but they’re all listening, and Han’s voice is so familiar. When she’s finally full, she rests her head on Han’s shoulder, because he’s just the right height. 

Han kisses her awake and his mouth tastes of wine. Maz stands on a chair beside her, studying her face with her ancient black eyes, her thick lens flipped back from her head. She holds up her hand, waiting for Leia to take her fingers in hers. Maz’s palm is warmer than Leia’s, and strong, even considering her age. Her Force presence comes with the touch, intense and old, like vivid color painted on parchment centuries past that has yet to fade. She continues to stare at Leia, reading through her shields. 

There’s no reason to be guarded, or to hide her fears, because Maz knows Vader is in their baby, in her, and no matter how many times Luke or Han tell her that it doesn’t matter, that Anakin Skywalker was once a good man, that Padme Amidala is a legacy worth having, she sees Vader’s mask in her nightmares. And he takes Han away.

Maz’s other hand hovers over her belly, waiting for Leia to nod her permission. Baby’s still, quiet perhaps because they can feel Maz as well. 

Han strokes the back of her neck, shifting in his chair so she’s against his chest, with his other arm around her hip. 

Shutting her eyes, Maz’s rests her hand on Leia’s belly, reaching out. Not the way Luke does, not with firm control, this is more instinct. 

“Your child is strong.”

“Strength can be a burden.”

“As you know,” Maz agrees, still studying her. “But it is a burden that lessen that of others, and something your child was meant to inherit from you, Leia Organa of Alderaan. This is your child, yours and Han’s, and that lineage is what matters most. Strength comes from you, and that will take your child far.”

Then she smiles, breaking the moment. “Now go to bed, Han and Chewie can tell me stories tomorrow. You should sleep while you can, once the baby’s here, you never sleep the same. I know. My children have been off on their own for hundreds of years, and I still don’t sleep.”

Leaning back and releasing her hand, Maz smiles at her. “It doesn’t get easier, only different. You worry about other things. Do your children have good company, like I do, when they eat? Has my daughter finally upgraded her hyperdrive, because she’s been using the one she let this questionable mechanic-” she points at Han, who makes an indignant noise, “-tinker with, for years, but she doesn’t listen to me. At least, not about that.”

Leia’s eyes sting, then water, and Han kisses the back of her head because he’s intimately aware of when she’s going to cry. “Thank you.”

Maz nods, then waves her hands towards Chewie. “Now, Chewie has much to tell me about his adventures, and Luke and I have much we can talk about, because I knew his Master Yoda when he was a padawan himself, yes, I did. So you’ll stay, all of you, and we’ll see much of each other. Han knows where your room is, and there’s plenty of food. You’ll stay, I will tell you all about my children and you can be grateful that yours is still so close at hand.”

“I’d like that.”

“Of course, of course.” Maz reaches for the wine and pours Han a little more. “You’ll need this.”

Chewie laughs, and there’s another story that Leia manages to stay awake for. Then they retreat to bed. She hasn’t slept in a castle for years, and this one feels far older than her mother’s was on Alderaan. Han knows exactly what room is theirs, and she wonders if he’s been there before. 

“I usually get one down the corridor,” he explains, tilting his head. “This is Maz’s favorite, because of the view. He opens the shutters and looks out over the starlight water. “See? I told you she likes you.” 

“She’s very kind,” Leia replies, shifting her weight. Her hips ache, and it could just be another long day, but maybe-- Everyone sagely says she’ll know when she’s in labor. Han worries that she is whenever she even breathes a little oddly and Luke would tell her to listen to her feelings. Her feelings oscillate so quickly that there’s not much to trust. Her back hurts near-constantly, that can’t be labor because she’d have had the baby by now.

Han’s fingers run down her spine, rubbing the tense muscles along the base where she’s nearly always sore. She yelps, because his touch finds a sharp knot of muscle that burns. That sound surprises him enough that he stops. 

“No, you can press harder.” 

He chuckles, leaning in closer. “Harder?”

“Kid must have been right up against my spine today.” She rests her hands against the wall and braces so that he can really press into the aching knot. Pain radiates upward, snaking like lightning all the way to the back of her skull. She gasps, but the lightning fades and takes the heavier ache with it, at least for awhile. He rubs her back, then reaches for her hair. 

Removing the pins that bind up her braids, he takes them down with practiced skill. He always makes a stack of all the pins it takes to hold up her braids because he never believes she can hide so many in there and he likes to make show of counting them. He undoes the braids one of a time, shaking out her hair with his fingers. He likes the little waves they leave in her hair and he loves playing with them. Still leaning on the wall, she studies the cool grey stone beneath her palms. 

“What would happen if the baby comes here?”

“Maz always has a doctor or two around, smugglers are always getting themselves shot at through no fault of their own. Riiex is a pompous, stuck up type, and you’d hate him, but Waceera’s much nicer. Fixed up nasty shrapnel wound for me a few years back. Besides, I hear delivering a baby’s not hard.”

Leia turns to look at his face, and the steady rhythm of his fingertips rubbing against her scalp is incredibly soothing. “You say that, and yet you’re as nervous as tauntaun.”

“A baby isn’t _our_ baby, isn’t you, but it didn’t feel any better at the Hosnian med center, did it?”

“That place was a maze,” she reminds him, shaking her head. Gathering her hair, she braids it again lazily, just to get it out of the way. “And the lights were terrible. How is staring at a flashing pattern of lights supposed to help?”

Kissing her forehead, he nods. “I don’t think they really understood who they were talking to when they told you how to manage your pain.” Pulling off his boots, then his shirt, he looks out the window before meeting her eyes again. “Probably don’t know how many times you’ve been shot.” 

Leia rests her hands on his skin, studying his scars in the pale light from the window. “Or they thought they were talking to a politician, who needs to appear as if she’s in control at all times.”

“Guess they really didn’t know you,” he teases. 

“I don’t need to cultivate an appearance of control.”

“No, you don’t need to cultivate that,” Han replies, helping her out of her shirt. He folds it, setting it aside with his. He reaches for her breasts, bound up in a tight undershirt. They sit heavy on her chest, fuller than they’ve ever been, more round, and sensitive. She never paid that much attention to what she wore beneath her uniforms during the war, but the baby’s changed her body so much that she’s acutely aware of how her breasts can ache. 

Standing against his chest, she strips off the undershirt. He draws her in, kissing her breasts along the blue veins that have made maps beneath her skin. She could protest that she doesn’t need the control, to be in charge, because she takes orders in the field. When they’re sensible. 

“I like it here,” she says, resting her hands on his shoulders. Insects and birds hum through the trees outside of the window, and music and laughter carry lazily from downstairs. There’s life all around them, intrigue, excitement, and none of it has anything to do with them. She has him, and the quiet. 

Luke’s there as well; his presence caresses her mind before he retreats in meditation, leaving her alone with Han. He’s good at sensing when she’s about to kiss her husband in a way Luke might not want to share, even if he is her twin. Things were a little akward before they figured that out.

There’s a tiny stone closet with a toilet and a sink in the corner, which is nice, because she can barely go an hour without having to pee. Leia emerges with all of her clothing in her hands because it was just easier to step out of her trousers than fuss with getting them back on. Han smirks at her from where he stands by the bed and drops his own to the floor, letting her stare at him, naked before her. She drops her clothing onto the pile he’s already started and reaches for him, dragging him close so she can kiss him. 

He tastes spicy-sour, like good red wine, and while they’re kissing he lifts her up. She didn’t realize the bed was so high until she’s on it, facing him, her legs around his waist. It’s built into the wall, old timbers and older stone, and it creaks when he leans closer to kiss her. His tongue brushes her lips, then it’s in her mouth, and slowly the myriad complaints of her body give way to more pleasant sensations of warmth. He parts her legs, hands running up her thighs and she tugs him closer, kissing him deeper. 

One hand rises to her breast and he’s gentle while he palms it, slipping his fingers beneath so he takes the weight of it. She traces his back, finding the scars over his muscles, pulling him closer, kissing up his neck makes him gasp and his breathing rises with hers. Han returns to her mouth, sucking her bottom lip before his attention is drawn back to her breasts. Sucking on her breast as he moves towards her nipple, he coaxes a moan from her throat. 

He moves to the other breast with his mouth but his fingers glide up, starting to tease her. It doesn’t take much to arouse her, and he loves how wet she is. He strokes her cheek, then smiles at her. 

“Lie back.”

“Oh?”

“Maybe it’ll help you sleep,” he teases. Tracing his fingertip over her clit, he kisses her again. “Lie back.” 

She tugs him closer, running her foot across his butt, then she complies, dropping to her elbows, then all the way back, staring up at the ancient ceiling as his mouth drops to her thigh. He’s always cocky about what he’s good at, but when he does this, he’s earned every wink across across a table. 

Han teases, taking his time to bring his mouth towards her clit. He tries to fake her out, kissing her thigh and using his fingers to make her moan, then the heat of his mouth arrives, vivid like blaster fire, and the sound she makes is all the encouragement he needs. His fingers stroke her sex, but they’re only taunting her because he’ll slip inside when he’s done. Making her orgasm is his favorite kind of foreplay, and whenever they have time, he takes it. Takes her, breaks her ability to think. 

His mouth and hand move in tandem, drawing her up, taking her breath as her heart races. Pleasure can be sacred, sharing that is what binds a relationship. She took her mother’s lessons to heart, and came to her lovers eager, willing, and they were incredible, but Han is wicked. The firmer touch of his nose against her clit while he licks makes her moan again, because he’s toying with her, basking in the noises she makes and how her hips shift on the bed. She tilts up towards him, begging him for more, because that makes him take her over. 

He’s as soft as sealant when she uses his name, if she begs, and she shouldn’t. 

She shouldn’t. 

His mouth settles on her clit, and orgasm starts to creep over her like smoke. His free hand strokes her belly, and since the baby’s taking up so much space, orgasm takes over over, tightening down while her head spins. It’s a falling, dreamy sensation, that makes her feet tingle, and her lips. Her incoherent cry makes him stop, and Han’s wet mouth meets her cheek, then her lips, and she pants for breath while he leans over her. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers. 

“Get up here,” she answers, pulling her legs onto the bed. Her head’s still reeling, and perhaps that will build into the next. Sometimes it does, especially now, because being pregnant came with that strange and wonderful gift. 

Leia guides him beneath her, straddling his hips. He has to sit up to kiss her, because the baby takes up so much space, but he slips within her as his eyes darken. She’s still tight from orgasm, and wet enough that he slides deep. He’s controlled, gentle, and she has to shift her hips to allow him deeper, then she rocks. Her hips are gone, but he holds her waist, hands strong against her sides. She listens to his breathing, his heartbeat thudding in his chest, and reaches for his essence, that spark of the Force that flows within him. 

Luke blushed so red when she asked him about bringing the Force into sex, but she had to know. The Force wouldn’t be left out of something as beautiful as making love, but Luke hadn’t tried. He doesn’t love anyone as she does Han, has no one to touch this way. Han didn’t think it could work, that she could share what she has with him, like that. He’s as Force-sensitive as a rock, as he likes to remind her. 

He doesn't understand how the Force flows through stone, and water. Can’t see the connections between everything, between them, and the stones of the wall. Leia reaches out, opening herself. Stroking his chin, she looks down, seeking his eyes, looking for permission. 

“I want-” she starts to ask and he nods. 

Han strokes her side with his hand and watches her, curiosity overwhelming the physical until she moves faster, using one connection to build another. 

She draws Han into her, entwining the Force that flows through both of them. She’s done this before, letting him experience what she does, allowing him to feel the Force through her. 

“Do you- can you feel that?” she whispers. Her hand rests over his heart, on his sweat-slick skin. She tries to focus, shrinking her senses to the wet ache of their bodies together. the buzzing is her pleasure, rising again, but the thrumming inside of her teeth, that’s him. She’s sure this time. Leia can build that, make it spiral upward. The motion of her body’s an afterthought. Orgasm is biological, and if she can use the Force to dull pain, she can use it to magnify pleasure, share it, because he should know what he does to her, how it feels to have him buried deep and the cascading sensation of his fingertips on her clit again. 

That’s it. He’s there, with her, and his hand fumbles, his breath catches, mirroring her own. She squeezes, bearing down because she can share that, the delicious tightness of her body against his, the tension--

The _light_. 

She hovers over him, watching orgasm pass through his face while his body stiffens beneath her. The physical sensations blend together: the heat comes in waves and sweat beads on her back in the humid air. Leia studies his face, watching the Force slip back within him, waiting for the tide to rise again. Rolling off of him and onto the sheet beside him, she kisses his cheek. 

“You did that Force thing, didn't you?”

Leia beams at him, because they’ve been close. She’s nearly-- “You felt it.”

“Yeah.” He struggles for breath, still gasping. “Felt like flying naked in hyperspace or something.” Han shift to his side, wanting to look at her. “Is that what it’s like for you?”

“Only with you.” Patting his face, she drops her hand to the bed, spent and satiated. “Luke said the Force can amplify sensations, feelings, sometimes even share them, and I felt you. Which is incredible.”

He smirks and winks at her, settling his legs lazily over and between hers, so they’re tangled. “I’ve always considered myself to be.” His hand circles her belly, because he’s so fascinated by how hard and smooth it is after they’ve had sex. It’ll ache later, little shadow contractions that she imagines prepare the baby to breathe. They don’t hurt. 

She studies the scar on his chin, and the way his eyes seem darker in moonlight. She brushes his damp hair back from his forehead. “I love you.”

His response is a kiss, and his forehead brushes hers and they lie there, wrapped in each other. “What’s Luke going to say when you tell him that you managed to find me in the Force?”

“I can’t ask him that. He heard quite enough of you and me, before we figured out how to shield our minds from each other better.”

Han chuckles. “That was pretty funny.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Leia work on her Jedi training, Han works on how to transport a baby on a starship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tech-related delay because my laptop died (woe!), and apologies for the laziness delay, because I went to LA. (it was great).

“I’ll fly carefully,” he says, almost to himself because Maz is working on the safety straps a meter away and she might not hear him. “Really carefully.”

She says, tossing a scrap of fabric in his direction. “You’ll be fine. Babies have travelled safely on starships for thousands of years.”

“You can’t tell me you were nervous with your kids.”

“Of course I was,” she answers, tugging on the strap to test it before starting on the next one. “I was terrified of so many things. Foolish things. Other people made fun of me for those fears and I realized that they were foolish. Which did not make me feel better. Now, I make fun of you.”

Chuckling, he nods and accepts it. Like her help, it’s probably something he needs in the long run. He turns a screw, setting it in place, because it’s as sturdy as he can make it. Within reason, welding it down in the middle of the _Falcon_ is probably out of the question. Trying to focus on the task at hand, he makes some progress and tightening the other screws and smoothing their covers, so there are no sharp edges. 

At first, he thinks his thoughts have wandered, because he feels Leia, as if she’s here, but she’s with Luke, meditating. She wouldn’t have come back. Lifting the wrench, he turns a nut, but Leia--

She’s here. It’s like she’s reached out and touched his cheek. He could swear that she’s here. Han tries to shake the feeling that she’s here, with him, that she’s plucked him like a string. 

The commlink sits on the workbench less than a meter away. It hasn’t made a sound for hours. If she needed him, he could be in that part of the woods in ten minutes. Less, if he needed to. She could call him with that, if she needed him, if the baby decides to arrive today. 

Or to start, because everything he’s read suggests that it might take awhile. 

Leia’s hand runs across his neck and he startles, dropping the wrench so that it hits the worktop and then falls, clanging as it bounces on the deck. 

“What is it?” Maz asks, slipping off her stool and walking towards him. “What do you feel?”

“Leia,” he says before he can stop himself. There’s no way, it’s not possible, but he feels her. She’s here with him. He can just about smell her hair. “It’s like she’s here, but she can’t--”

“She’s training,” Maz reminds him. She climbs another stool and gets onto the workbench with the baby seat so she can look at his eyes. It’s always about the eyes with her. 

“Is plucking me some kind of training?” He sighs. Leia’s presence runs up the back of his neck, teasing him with the promise of her. “Can she even do that? I’m about as sensitive to the Force as this spanner.”

Chuckling, Maz takes the spanner from his hand and sets it down. She holds up her hand, reaching for his, and when he touches her, the ghostly fingers on the back of his neck soften. “Your inability to feel the Force doesn’t mean she can’t reach you, Leia has great power. More than she realizes.”

“That’s what Luke says,” he replies, squeezing Maz’s hand. “And that’s why she has to train it, because that much power with control could be dangerous, and she’s usually so controlled, and she’ll get this, she picks up most things so quickly.” Somehow Maz’s touch mediates Leia reaching for him, making it less overwhelming. Leia’s okay, this is just practice. “She’s just tired.”

“I know.”

“And she’s already given the New Republic so much.” He toys with the spanner, unable to look up because it’s almost selfish to say so. Leia’s priorities are so much bigger than his, so is what she has to offer the galaxy. She makes everyone’s life better, without hesitation, without stopping to think about herself. Like a Jedi, maybe, but she can’t do both. She can’t form all the connections and relationships she needs to while building up the same aloofness Luke has. 

He turns the spanner over, toying with it in his hands. “Now the Jedi want something too. I know it’s just Luke, and he’s her brother, and it is important that she learn.”

“But you see her at the end of the day, when everyone’s fed on her light.”

Han sighs, leaning against the wall of the _Falcon_ , spinning the spanner in his hands. The commlink’s just sitting there, waiting. He could pick it up and see what Luke and Leia are doing. If they’re done yet. He shouldn’t interrupt. 

“In the early weeks, when we hadn’t told anyone, she’d come home so tired that she’d fall asleep while I reheated her dinner.” He continues spinning the spanner, alternating which side of it hits his palm. “I’d wake her up just long enough for her to eat, then she’d be out again until morning, and we had to get up early, so she could eat before she got nauseated, because she always did around sunrise, but she was never late to a meeting, never snapped at the idiots who always wanted her input on their ideas but never really listened to her.” 

Maz nudges his creation, adjusting her thick lenses to see better. Then picks up where he left off, covering the screws, checking the seals. “She loves that.”

Han stops moving the spanner through his hands, surprised. “What?”

“That you get so annoyed when people waste her time.”

Pushing off the wall he returns to her, forcing himself to put the spanner down and stop fidgeting. “She said that?”

“You’re one of the few people in her life who remembers she has to be a person,” Maz reminds him. “Leia’s wise enough to appreciate that.” She flips the baby seat, turning it over to get a look at it. “It’s good.”

“Thanks.” 

Her gaze follows his until they’re both looking at the commlink. 

“Go,” Maz says, picking it up for him. “She’s studied enough.”

“I don’t want to interrupt.”

She presses it into his hand, easing his dirty fingers around it. “You’re important,” she reminds him, shaking her head. “Besides, she’s had enough.”

Staring at the now-dirty commlink, Han smirks. “How do you know?” 

“She wouldn’t be focusing on you instead of her lessons if she found the lessons interesting,” Maz explains, and that clicks. Luke’s never been good at reading his sister’s emotions and there’s always something bigger than Leia being exhausted, or nauseated, and there was that time Luke helped her ignore her physical body, which worked great until they stopped. 

Then Leia had to deal with the everything she’d been using the Force to push away, and for the first time since their honeymoon, she took a day off. She hadn’t been nauseated before then, and he spent most of the day sitting with her on the floor, trying to keep enough in her stomach so she could throw up something. Luke apologized, a lot, because Han was perfectly willing to give him all the dirty looks Leia wouldn’t. Luke still thought it was worthwhile, that she’d need to be able to draw on that skill someday. 

And sure, someday. Someday didn’t have to be right now. Maybe Luke didn’t know how tired she was, but he had to. They had that twin bond thing, and he had to feel things through that. Maybe he had a way to ignore those things that Han didn't. Some kind of Jedi overarching compassion that drowned out the little things. 

Han couldn't help being ruled by the little things because Leia didn't show them to anyone else. Mon Mothma didn't know how tired she’d been and that battalion of senator’s aides had no idea that for a month or two, Leia slept nearly every moment she was behind closed doors. 

Which at the time Han had been so worried and angry about that he’d started to hate Luke every time he brought up Jedi training. It had been fine for him to disappear to a swamp with Yoda. Leia already had so many responsibilities that making sure she had time to eat was a struggle. The Force could give her a break, couldn't it? 

He taps the commlink, opening a channel. “Leia?”

Something rustles, then she’s there. “Han, it worked.” She sounds so pleased; he can picture the light in her eyes. “You felt it, didn't you?”

“What did you do?” Luke’s voice carries over the link, soft and concerned. 

“I thought of Han and he felt it.” She sounds so proud that Han hears her smile through the link. 

“That’s unlikely.” 

He’d nudge Luke, even glare at him a little, if he was there. He can’t really glare at a commlink, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. Leia reaches for him again, and this time he doesn’t have to imagine her frustration because he shares it. Her annoyance bleeds over into him like hot sand against his skin. 

“Can we argue about this over lunch? It’s ready.”

“Was ready an hour ago,” Maz says, adding her voice to his. “Yoda always stopped to eat regularly. ‘Haste helps not the student or the teacher’.” 

Luke laughs, but it’s weary, tired somehow, and far older than the kid should sound. 

“Han?” Leia starts, and she doesn’t have to finish. 

“I’ll come get you.” 

She and Luke are perfectly capable of finding their way back to Maz’s castle, but he wants to walk with her and she wants him so it’s entirely normal that he walk all the way out into the woods. 

Luke could help her up, but the separate of her time spent training feels like days and he’s just calmer when he’s with her. Unless that’s her projecting, because she puts up with enough during the day. 

Warm sunlight streams through the trees around them, and he finally notices the green once he can see Leia up ahead. Luke picked a nice spot, a little circle of grass, some stray rocks that might have been part of something long ago, and the trees. Luke sits cross-legged, ever calm, and Leia sits across from her, one hand on her belly, but she’s far from calm. Her forehead’s lined with worry and her voice is sharp enough that she doesn’t have to project her frustration. 

“We should study this, experiment, see how far away he can be and still hear me. It could be useful.”

“It could be dangerous,” Luke corrects, catching Han’s eye as he approaches. “Telepathic communication between Jedi was fairly rare, between a Jedi and her mate is rarer still. We don’t know how it works.”

“All the more reason to test it.” Leia turns her eyes from Luke and her forehead softens as she reaches for Han. He doesn’t have to share her thoughts to guess that her back hurts, her hips hurt and she’s starting to get one of those ‘training with Luke hasn’t gone well’ headaches. 

Her hands stay in his, her fingers warm. She’s like an old hyperspace relay coil, on the verge of overheating, Leia shuts her eyes for half a moment, leaning against his chest and he wants to take her away, to tell Luke that all of this can wait because he brought her out here to have a baby, not to dissect her psyche, but this is important. It’s pulling teeth, and they’re both so damn stubborn, but important. 

“Han’s my husband, I wouldn’t hurt him,” Leia says, turning back to Luke. One of her hands sneaks around his back and he holds her close. 

Luke can’t even smile, even though he tries. “Not intentionally.” 

“What does that mean?”

“We’re taking a break,” Luke reminds her, and his smile this time is more believable. “We’ll talk about it later.” 

They take a merciful few steps out of the clearing, towards lunch and company, and the promise of lighter conversations, but Leia stops. “You think I might do what, exactly? Mind trick Han into doing what I want?”

“The mind trick is surface level, for the weak minded, not Han. A connection like the one you have might transfer emotion, perhaps sensation. Under stress--”

“Han might have to feel what he put me through?” Leia says. She has the inflection in her voice that she’s teasing, but her eyes are too stern. 

“Not like that.” Luke sighs, and the weight Han hasn’t been able to figure out settles onto his shoulders. The kid he met on Tatooine is buried deep in ancient Jedi responsibilities, and his General-Senator-Princess sister isn’t an easy pupil. He drags his hand through his hair and looks at them both, half-lost. “Your abilities are increasing, and there’s anger in you, resentment--”

“My planet--” Leia starts.

Luke nods, lifting a hand to calm her. That hand isn’t even real, because Vader took it. Luke wants her to forgive that too. “I know.” His eyes flick from Leia to Han, then back to her. “The Jedi records are mostly destroyed, but I don’t need them to know that giving birth is an intense experience. It’ll open your mind, test your ability to shield yourself. All of your anger, your fears, they’ll be stronger too.”

Shaking her head, Leia tightens the arm around Han’s back. “I’m not angry with Han, and he makes me less afraid. He’s only tried to calm me down since I told him I was pregnant. You must be able to feel that. You’re my brother.” 

Luke looks down at his boots before he looks at her. “But our connection never made that much sense, did it?” 

“I can feel you.” 

“Thanks for that,” Luke replies, his expression softening. “I’m glad I’m not still falling into Bespin.”

“It’s not like that for you, is it?” 

“You’re in danger less than I am,” he teases back, but that’s not it. 

“Luke, tell me.”

Han rubs his fingers across her back, because he can’t help with this. 

“You can call to Han, but not me, and that worries me, because Jedi--”

“Aren’t supposed to get married and get pregnant.” Leia takes a step, and they start walking and it’s possible that they’ll make it to lunch without another argument. “I’m not a Jedi,” she reminds him. “That’s a commitment I can’t make.”

“Of course, but you’re powerful, if you’d started younger--”

“Before I was training for the Senate?” Leia asks. The question’s soft enough, but Luke doesn’t stop when he should. 

Maybe they aren’t as connected, because Luke hasn’t learned to stop. 

“Before the politics, and the war games, the galactic history, and the nights when my father had to stay up with me practicing courtesies and languages so that I could be the face of Alderaan when I was old enough. Maybe Yoda should have found me when I was a child, taken me from my parents then. He knew where we were.”

“The time wasn’t right.”

Leia releases Han and turns, glaring at her brother “According to who? You told me that Anakin became Vader because he learned to be a Jedi when he was too old, too impulsive, too attached to Padme Amidala. I’m too old, too impulsive and far too attached to him!”

She didn’t call him scruffy. It would be easier if she was in a light enough mood to do that. 

“I’ve only had two days of leave, a baby that could arrive any day, and you think now I need to study the ways of the Jedi, which by their own rules should be off limits to me because I’m as attached as I could possibly be to a reformed space pirate and yes, I can feel him through the Force better than I can feel you, and I don’t know why that is, or why you can’t explain it. Wouldn’t figuring that out be more useful than trying to teach me shielding? Don’t you know how long I’ve shielded myself? I kept our _father_ out of my head before I knew that I had a hint of the same kind of power you have.”

Luke stands before her, and Han can see the collision of wills like a star destroyer hitting an asteroid field. “You don’t need to learn how to keep people out,” he says, holding up his hands, keeping his voice measured and soft. “You do that better that most. Anakin lashed out with his anger.”

“He wasn’t Anakin then.”

“He killed our mother.”

“He lost control.”

“Is that how he describes the murder of children?” 

Han can’t stop them, and all of this needs to come out because Leia’s held in enough. Luke saw the man underneath on the Death Star, but she’s never had that. Every time she’s encountered Darth Vader there’s been pain, and death. He’s never let up because he recognized his daughter. 

“There’s your anger,” Luke says, and maybe he means to open the gates, because there’s no closing them now.” 

“You want to talk about anger?” She vibrates under Han’s hand on her back, so livid that Luke must be able to feel it like a flare. 

“Leia, you can’t hold onto feelings like that.” 

“Do you understand how long Vader tried to batter his way into my mind? How many different settings he tried on that interrogation unit? How many injections?” She takes a few steps away, almost trembling as she glares at Luke in the warm sunshine. “Then Vader tried to pull you to Bespin, and he tortured me again, tortured Han, ripped him apart just so you’d feel our suffering.” 

Luke nods, but his face is soft, almost blank with that weird Jedi compassion. “Vader was evil, our father isn’t, not now.”

Leia’s eyes shine with fury and unshed tears, but her expression is fixed. “I had a father, and he died on Alderaan, with my mother and billions of her people. Vader watched that. He stood beside Governor Tarkin and allowed all of that death, because I--” She stops, and has to swallow, because she can’t. She thinks it every day, but she can’t say it unless it’s the middle of the night and she’s wrapped up against his chest. 

Han runs his hand slowly up her back, then down again, making a route along her spine. 

“I didn’t tell Vader about the base on Yavin. Our _father_ failed torturing me and my planet died. My people, died. Thousands of years of history, art, music and culture was destroyed. Millions of plants, insects, even the horrible Uretti flies that drew blood in the summer if you got too close to the northern swamps. They’re gone.”

“It’s not your fault,” Han says, still rubbing her back. He says it so quickly because it’s a mantra between them: a prayer he repeats in the night when she can’t let go. 

“That’s not him.” Luke adds, but that’s not what she needs to hear. 

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, climbing as if the air’s full of electricity, like before a sandstorm. The sun still shines, but it’s almost cold. The birds quiet, the insect hum evaporates and it’s so quiet that Leia’s breathing, as harsh as sandpaper, carries like blaster fire. 

“It was him,” she answers, her tone flat, threatening. “He stood there. He just stood there and watched, like he let our mother die after her choked her, like he let the Emperor drag the entire galaxy into darkness and pain. We fight. Our mother fought and she kept us alive, our father gave in, and that’s the worst kind of evil.” 

She retreats to Han, taking his arm, looking at him before she turns back to Luke. “I can’t. I can’t talk to him, not today, not now. Maybe after the baby...” Leia lets the thought trail off and Luke could have left it. He could have let the conversation go quiet and calm. 

“You shouldn’t put this off. You have a responsibility--”

“What do you know about responsibility?”

“Leia--” Han shouldn’t have said anything, but she’s not mad at Luke. Not really. 

“The Jedi left, they retreated, Obi-Wan and Yoda let the galaxy fall into darkness around them because they decided it wasn’t the right time. They could have helped my father, helped the Rebellion, maybe even helped keep some of our troops alive because we lost so much in that war.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t send them.” Leia wipes her eyes and reaches for Han again because her hands tremble, and he just wants to take her away and make her sit down and eat lunch. “You didn’t write the letters to their families.” 

He opens his arms, then pulls her into his chest. After the cease fire, she wrote letters in their bed until she fell asleep with the paper beside her, and he sat with her and tweaked blaster parts while she wrote. Luke carries a weight; Han’s seen it settle onto him, but Leia’s carried pain too. 

“She needs to eat,” he mouths to Luke. If he leaves, she’ll cry and then Han can make sure she eats and does something about her inevitable headache. She’ll let him take care of her, put up with his fussing, because she allows that from him. Sometimes he doesn’t know why, but it works. 

Luke nods and leaves, disappearing silently into the trees. Maybe he’ll find his own lunch, or they’ll see him when they get back to the castle. He can look after himself. He’s hardly a kid (though he has so much to learn about his sister), because Han doesn’t have some magical gift that lets him understand her. He’s just quiet when he needs to be. He can’t be sure if she’s crying out of anger, loss or frustration, and his arms are full of her until her breathing has slowed and her heartbeat’s even. 

“You need lunch.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He lifts her face from his chest, stroking tears away from her red eyes. “Not hungry because you’re still mad at Luke or not hungry because baby’s up to something?”

“Baby’s just heavy.” 

He runs his fingers down her back and digs them in along her spine, where it always hurts. “Not that much longer.”

“What if he’s right?”

“The kid?” Han teases, kissing her forehead. “I mean, I can see why he’d rather stay with you then come out on Corusant, or one of the fancy interior worlds. Too clean, too weird and white and shiny, but it’s pretty here.” 

Leia smiles, and her breath skips enough that it’s almost a laugh. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” he promises so quickly that the words trip over themselves in his mouth. “I know, I didn’t even worry.”

He offers his sleeve for her eyes and she smirks. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He kisses her, then studies her dark brown eyes, searching for her humor and hope. “I’ve got a spare, but someone keeps borrowing it.”

“I like your shirt.”

“And none of yours fit right,” he finishes for her. “Maybe I should get another spare.”

“I think you can afford it.”

Chuckling, he starts them down the path to castle. “I have a clothing allowance or something, don’t I?”

“I told you, and Chewie.”

“I thought his new leather was nicer than he usually gets.” He jokes more about Chewie stealing his clothing allowance, and Wookie fashion sense and by the time she gets back to the castle, she’s herself again, 

And yes, she was hungry. 

Maz takes Leia to show her the treasures in the basement, all the old things that she’s been collecting over the centuries, because Leia, unlike most of her guests, appreciates art and history for more than a monetary value. Leia’s mind still reaches for him, brushing his thoughts. He knows that’s her, not his mind wandering, and that makes it kind of sweet. 

Luke slips into the empty seat next to him and Han pours him a drink. Luke sniffs it then takes a sip. 

“It’s good,” he says, running it over his tongue.

“‘Course it is.” 

“Leia’s all right?”

“She’s fine, just tired, hungry, sore, exhausted, pregnant--”

“I’m sorry.”

Han claps his shoulder. “Good.”

“But you know--”

“See that waiter?” Han interrupts him. “Over there, the one with all the smoking cocktails?” 

“Yes.” Luke turns to him, waiting for clarification. 

“He’s a spy.”

Luke starts to shift, reaching for his lightsaber and Han shakes his head. “No, he’s Leia’s spy. He’s been passing her updates on the scout team in the Outer Rim, when she thinks I’m not looking.”

“You said she wasn’t working.”

“I thought she wasn’t working,” Han corrects him. He lifts his own drink and stares at it. “I’m not really surprised. She’s worried about that mission.”

“She hasn’t mentioned it.”

“You haven’t given her much of a chance,” Han reminds him. “Keep pushing resolution with Darth Vader and you don’t give her a chance to bring up much else.”

Luke winces, then finishes his drink. He hands over the glass for more. “She doesn’t understand.” 

“Enlighten me then, maybe I can pass it on to her.”

“Leia has advanced projection abilities, and she’s used them long before she even knew what they were. Battles go better when she watches them, pilots fly better. It’s a rare gift in a Jedi. She can magnify hope, increase a sense of competence. You’ve seen it.”

Pouring more of the dark grey alcohol into Luke’s glass, Han nods. The smoky scent of it hangs in the air. “She’s a good leader.”

“Because she can tap into the emotional state of those who follow her, help them believe in what they’re doing, put aside their fears, but that has a Dark Side.”

He adds a few fingers worth of the whiskey in his own glass. He’ll need it if they intended to have a second round of this argument. “She could magnify negative emotions.”

“Or project them. It’s not something I can do, I can’t lead people the way she can. Obi-Wan--”

Han lets the whiskey sting his tongue and fill his mouth with spice before he swallows. “Why doesn’t he just talk to her? She likes him.”

“He’s trying to give her space.”

Laughing dryly, Han glares at Luke over his glass. “Gotta give one to the Old Man.”

“Hey.”

“Look, kid, Your sister’s pregnant, and that’s the big thing she has to worry about, because the baby’s going to turn up any day now, and it’s fair that the baby’s all she can think about. The rest of it, the scout team, her Jedi powers, Darth- Anakin- your father, all of that should wait, take a seat, and let her focus on what she needs to.” 

Luke opens his mouth and Han nudges his attention towards his glass. 

“Not what _you_ think she needs to pay attention to, what she does. I think she’s given the galaxy enough to deserve a few days off until the kid shows up.”

He sips his whiskey, coughs a little and then grins. “She’s a lot like him, you know.”

“Yeah, she probably is, but telling her that will get you nowhere, so find another way.”

Luke looks at Han and he shakes his head. 

“Not through me, I’m neutral. I’ve got to be the one who she can talk to when she thinks you’re an idiot.” 

That makes Luke grin, finally. “That’s probably good.” 

“I know you mean well, and she does, but you have to give her some time. She’s not going to hurt me, no matter what your father did to your mother. Leia’s not like that.” 

Luke doesn’t seem convinced, and Han pours him more whiskey. He’ll need it. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia talks to Anakin, who shares a secret of Luke's. Baby chooses a birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to my brain twin, shinewithalltheuntold, for her unwavering support. Many thanks also for the kudos and wonderful comments because it's such a treat to know what you like. I am so grateful.

Han mutters to himself by the table, turning screws, tightening fittings. He loves a project and bringing their baby home has kept him busy. It’s sweet that he worries, though babies have been traveling on starships, herself included, for thousands of years. He’s so far from the scruffy-looking pirate who cared only about himself, and money. Which is funny, because he’s richer now as her husband than he ever would have been as a smuggler. He could pay off Jabba the Hutt’s ransom several times over, buy a starfighter to replace the _Falcon_. 

And the money is nothing. He doesn’t even buy parts for the _Falcon_ when he needs them. She finds them, or he trades, or they call in a favor. She’s not usually as wrong about anyone as she has been about him, and that is precious. He was everything she hated, now he’s everything she loves: the center of her universe and the father of their child. She smiles to herself, shaking the tangles out of her wet hair. 

They swam in the clear water of the great lake, Han complaining about the cold because he wasn’t raised in the mountains of Alderaan, with cold streams and falling snow. He came in with her, and swam under the sky while the sun set. Then he watched her, teasing her about the lake being the only thing that could take the heat from the furnace she’s become. 

And nothing happened. The commlink was silent, no data readers arrived so urgent they needed to move to the top of the pile. Han laughed at her, water drying on his tan shoulders, and he came down to the water to walk her out because her legs forgot how heavy she is. He kissed her instead of drying her off, and again while she held the towel and the amount of time they can spend kissing hasn’t changed at all. Marriage, a baby, all the things that are meant to take away from the simple pleasure of their mouths against each other, can’t compete.

The baby shifts, nudging at her ribs with one of their feet. Tilting her hips eases the ache in her back but standing barefoot on the stone isn’t helping, even if it’s pleasantly cool on her feet. Rubbing the invading foot with her hand, through the thin fabric of one of Han’s old shirts, she listens to the shirt’s former owner hum to himself in the other room. 

“Your hair’s much longer than your mother’s was. Your birth mother, I mean,” Anakin corrects. Obi-Wan must have told him to be polite and recognize that she had parents who loved her that weren’t him. She can’t imagine Anakin Skywalker being polite on his own. 

She’s too harsh, but he’s Darth Vader. He was- is- but he’s so young. There are no lines on her face, as there were on her father’s, her mother’s, and he’s barely her age. 

Maybe younger. He’s insubstantial, a ghost of blue Force-energy, but his blue eyes look so much like Luke’s that she can’t watch them. Her brother’s eyes have always been gentle, comforting, but Anakin she can’t trust. 

“She wore wigs,” Leia says, because she’s seen the holos of Padme Amidala, queen and senator of Naboo, and the ornamental parts of her costumes were beautiful, as was she. 

“Not all the time,” he replies, shifting so he sits on the edge of the table, watching her as if he’s a child. “Sometimes her hair was wound up into them, very complicated, it would take two of three of her handmaidens to get her free. Dorme was especially good at it,” he continues, remembering. “After she became a senator, they were less complicated, but there were always hairpins on the table next to the bed. Sometimes they were in the bed.” His smile is so genuine, so gentle that she forgets all her hatred. 

“Han says he finds them in the bed.”

“I do. They’re a menace.” Han finishes, peering through the door. “Who are you talking to?” He looks around the room but Anakin’s invisible to him. Puzzled, he turns to Leia. “Who’s here?”

“My-” she stops, that seems wrong somehow. “Anakin,” she corrects, because this is him, the youthful Jedi who had so much promise. He’s not her father, but he is on some level, and he’s not evil. Not yet, anyway. 

Tracking her eyes, Han crosses to her, staring where she’s looking, even though he can’t possibly see Anakin. His arm rises in front of her chest, because he needs to be between her, the baby, and Darth Vader. The commlink crackles in his hand. 

“Luke is on his way already,”Anakin says. Perhaps he spoke to him first. 

She reassures Han. “He says Luke’s coming.” Leia takes that defensive arm and holds it, wrapping her arms around it, taking his hand. Han’s fingers close tight around her own, and she can’t take his worry, not totally, because Anakin Skywalker was her father, but he’s Darth Vader and he killed; tortured. 

“Good.” He leans in, kissing her forehead. She’s not sure if it’s to reassure her or himself, but it’s easier with him here. 

Anakin watches them, his smile soft, full of regret. 

“What was she like?” she asks, trying to keep the conversation on something they both want to talk about. 

“Beautiful, intelligent, funny,” he stops, fidgeting with a sleeve that’s not there. “I imagine the historians forget to mention that she was funny.” 

“Much of the history of the Old Republic was destroyed in the wars,” Leia tells him. He was there, he should know that, but maybe it’s only yesterday for him that Padme Amidala was alive, that the Republic stood firm. 

“And written by the victors,” Anakin adds, slipping off the table and pacing over to the window. “We were going to have you on Naboo, in the lake country. Your mother’s family had a house there, and she loved it. We didn’t know you were twins. You and your brother. We didn’t- that would have been a surprise.” He looks at her belly and Han must be able to tell, must be following her eyes, because he’s between them again, his body her shield if she needs it. 

“Ours is one.”

“You can feel that?”

“Yes.” Why couldn’t he feel them? Were his abilities more like Luke’s? Were their infant minds too similar or too connected? 

“Leia?” 

Luke’s mind touches hers just before his voice reaches her. Maz and Han whisper and she’s there, right beside Leia’s thigh, watching Anakin from behind her glasses. 

“He’s so young,” Maz says, and that must be for Han, because everyone else can see Anakin. “And tall, like you. Don’t know why Luke is so short.” 

“I’m all right,” she promises Luke. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he says, touching her shoulder. “We’re here.” 

And they are, all arrayed behind her, except Han, who is determined to be in the way. She loves that, because the soft scent of him, still almost damp from the lake, gives her something to focus on. 

“I don’t blame you,” Anakin says, resting his sparkling hands on the windowsill. “For needing them here.” 

That rankles somehow, and her grip must have tightened because Han catches her eye. 

She shakes her head and he’s silent, but Anakin takes a step, then another, and he’s closer. He could almost touch her. 

Han’s still between them. When did her heart start beating so hard?

“You should sit.”

Leia didn’t envision this conversation taking that much time, but it doesn’t seem like he’s leaving. Her feet hurt, sending pain up to her knees and fine, she should sit, but the room’s tiny and there’s just a bench along the wall and the bed, and she can’t sit on the bed with him there. 

Han leads her to the bench but sitting seems strange, and it’s not until he’s behind her, so she’s perched between his legs, his hands on her thighs that it seems all right. His breathing is slower, and that helps calm her own. She’s not nervous, Anakin’s harmless, he’s barely grown; this is how he was when he was good. When he was himself. He’s that again, Luke swears it, but this is how he was when he killed.

She’s killed in battle, but not children, not Padme. 

“Have you had visions?”

Maz climbs up on the bench beside her and repeats to Han in a whisper, so he knows. Luke sits down on the other side, touching her hand. 

“No.” 

Luke nods, and why does Anakin keep looking at him? Does he expect her to lie? 

“He had visions, before our mother died,” Luke explains. “He knew she’d die in childbirth.”

“I wanted,” Anakin stops again, shaking his head. “I wanted to make sure you were all right, with the baby.”

“I’m fine.”

Maz whispers to Han again and his fingers find Leia’s. 

“Luke said I shouldn’t worry.”

“No,” Leia says and Anakin’s smile fades. Her tone was too sharp, but he’s not her father, not really, not the one who should worry about her. Bail would have stories about her mother worrying over a speech, or a treaty, and he’d find a way to make her laugh, and tease Han about the fourth time he’s rebuilt the baby seat for the _Falcon_. 

“I mean, I’m fine,” she corrects. “The baby’s a little late, but first babies are, I’m told.”

“You and your brother were early.” Anakin’s eyes are too soft, and she’s not sure if ghosts can cry, but the memory stings him. Maybe he’s imagining another universe where he watched the birth of his children, instead of taking their mother. “I saw your mother, Padme, I saw her die, through the Force, every night.”

“I haven’t had visions, Luke has, but not about our baby, or Han and I.”

Han’s fingers touch her belly, almost to make sure that what she says is true. 

“I don’t think anything is going to happen to Leia,” Luke adds, and his voice is so much calmer. The Emperor could have been influencing you.”

So it wasn’t Anakin’s fault. Is that how Luke rationalizes Anakin’s fall? Is that how he forgives? She doesn’t believe in fate, nor that the Force has a plan that they’re all following. 

“He maneuvered people and events far into the future, or at least, he tried to, Luke continues. “He wanted you for his apprentice.”

“And there may be those who want your child,” Anakin adds, looking straight at Leia, and she sees Luke in his face, in his concern, but he is not family. He’s not her brother. He is not someone she trusts.

“There’s no one left,” she protests. The Dark side always returns, she’s heard that over and over, but there’s no one. They’ve won.

“They might come to you as a friend,” he insists. “The Emperor did. He was Senator Palpatine when I knew him. He was a mentor.”

The baby shifts, and she can’t help wondering if they sense her unease. That foot crashes into her ribs again, and she moves Han’s palm over it. 

Anakin tilts his head, studying her and Han before he speaks. “I know you resist Luke’s training, but you must be aware that your own brother was almost lost to the Dark. Luke’s anger was once so great that he nearly killed Darth Vader and took his place.” 

He never--

Leia turns her head and Luke meets her eyes. 

“I meant to tell you.”

“That you--”

“I threatened you,” Anakin says, his voice cold as stone. “If Luke would not turn, perhaps you would, and I found anger in him I’d never felt before. If he’d been weaker, he would have joined the Emperor.” 

Her stomach twists, and her throat draws tight. Luke nods again, because this is true. He faced their father and wanted his death, his blood--

“Luke loved you enough to risk losing himself, and I see you with your husband, and your baby, and how much you love them. The Dark side twists love, magnifies fear, makes you realize that you’d do anything to avoid losing the people you love.” 

He moves, perhaps without even walking, and then his face is so close to hers that the Force-energy of him crackles against her skin. 

“I don’t want you to ever feel that desperation, that hunger for power, because it consumes you, and there’s nothing after that. You tell yourself that you want power for the people you love, for Han, for your child, but power is its own kind of love.” He reaches for her face, touching her cheek as if he’s been a father to her most of her life, not just in moments. 

Recoiling from the shock of the contact, the Force against her skin, or disgust, she presses into Han’s chest with her back, and his arms grab her, holding her safe even though he doesn’t know what she’s afraid of. 

Luke’s hand flies up to ease Anakin away, and another pair of hands, insubstantial as Anakin’s shoulders, pull him back. 

“I’m sorry,” a new voice says, older than Anakin’s. “I should have been here earlier. Forgive me, I didn’t want to intrude.”

“You’re always late,” Maz says, shaking her head at the Obi-Wan. “And you haven’t gotten any better.” 

“Having no real concept of time does make it more difficult,” he retorts, smiling at her. 

Luke smiles at him, suddenly calm. 

Turning her head, she hides her face in Han’s neck, just long enough to regain her composure. Obi-Wan she trusts, because he was her father’s friend and he’s always been kind. Han holds her shoulders, then cradles her head. What she feels for him is the opposite of what Anakin worries. Han’s peace, comfort, and safety. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Leia asks Luke when she trusts herself to look at him. “You said the Emperor tortured you, and our father--”

Luke fidgets with his hands, and he smiles, his expression soft and sad. “The Emperor said he’d try to turn you, and I could I have killed him, and Vader, I would have done anything to keep you from being in that place. I beat Vader back, cut off his hand, and I realized that I’d lose you if I didn’t stop, even if I won, I’d lose you.”

She opens her mouth but she can’t speak. They’re all watching her; she’s the center of the silence. The Emperor wanted her, and her abilities are nothing like Luke’s. She doesn’t have his skill, never will, but he thought she’d be in danger if he failed. He put himself through all of that for her. 

“Kid--” Han says, patting his shoulder before he squeezes it and Luke winces, just a little. “You have family. We’ve got your back. We always will.” 

“Don’t do that,” she says, and it’s a whisper because it hurts to look at her idiot brother. Her twin, her other half, and he’s so much like her. So foolish. “Don’t lie to me. You should have told me what happened.”

“I was weak,” Luke explains, turning half a smile toward Han. “My love for you made me lose myself, lose what I needed to do. I had to let go, of everyone, and then it passed. The Dark side can’t tempt you if you surrender, and I thought I would die. The Emperor’s lightning took me and I thought that was it, but it was all right, because you’d resist him. You’re so strong.”

“No,” she snaps. 

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and Maz starts to smile. 

“I’m not,” Leia continues. “I’m not strong like that.”

“You stood up to Vader before you knew what you were, what strength you had. You’ve always been stronger than me, a better leader.” Luke puts his hand on her knee and they’re all entwined, the three of them, staring at each other while the ghosts watch them.

“But I don’t surrender.” He should know that.

“Surrender was how I let go of the Dark side, perhaps it won’t be that for you. The Force is in all of us but it’s different too. Anakin let go of the darkness because of love, and I had to let go of love to find my way. You have so much love, Leia, and maybe that’ll be how it works for you. I don’t doubt you, I’ve never doubted you.”

“Not even when you were under that horrible water in the garbage chute?” Han teases, and he pulls Luke closer and the three of them hug, arms and shoulders and faces all together, and she loves them both too much for words or measure. 

“Maybe a little, the tentacles, you know,” Luke jokes back, before he kisses her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“I didn’t want you to feel bad.”

“Because not telling me was certainly better,” she says, trying to sound commanding, but her throat’s too tight. 

“I knew you’d save the galaxy,” Luke whispers, kissing her other cheek. “I trusted that, and I let go.”

She doesn’t let go, not of the people she loves, or a fight that needs her. Leia doesn’t know how that will translate, how she can face that inevitable darkness that Luke fears, because she doesn’t give up. Surrender has never been an option, and certainly not now, with Han and the baby, and Luke--

She shuts her eyes, leaning into him while Han strokes the back of her head. “It’s a big galaxy.”

“You’d do it,” Luke promises, and he looks at her with the same unwavering faith that Han has. 

“I told you that you worried too much,” Obi-Wan says and Anakin’s sigh carries. “They have each other, and that’s important.”

“I’m their father,” Anakin protests. “I’m meant to worry about them.”

Their argument continues, and Luke watches them, his smile growing. Maz starts to repeat it for Han, but he shakes his head. 

“It’s okay, I hear them, arguing like Jawas over the price of a speeder.” 

Luke’s eyebrows rise. “You hear them?”

“Like a bad radio, but yeah.” Han strokes her neck, then shakes his head. “Is it always like that?”

“We can see them,” Luke explains, and then grins. “But yeah, it’s often like that.”

Maz clears her throat and reaches for Luke’s sleeve. “We should go, Chewie will have drunk all of my wine if we don’t give him some company. You two as well,” she orders, and Anakin and Obi-Wan both turn to her, surprised. “Let them get some sleep.”

Obi-Wan smiles and bids them good night. Anakin stares for a long moment, his eyes searching her face. He glances at Han, then looks back at her. His blue eyes are a mirror of Luke’s but that no longer bothers her. 

“Sleep well,” he says, swallowing the rest of what he wants to say. He starts to fade, the blue glow of the Force vanishing, but he stops. “You’re good here, together, with your baby.”

The air seems to exhale, losing the crackling of the presence of ghosts. Luke lingers to kiss her cheek and Han hugs him, one arm tight around his shoulders. She’s in there too, and it’s hard to let him go. “I’m glad you’re here, kid.” 

“Thanks.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” Luke promises, and he catches her eye, getting her permission to touch her belly. She grabs his hand and helps him find one of the feet that are all too easy to locate today. 

“Okay.”

“My niece or nephew here’s pretty strong.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

He beams at her and nods. “Good night.” 

The door closes behind him and it’s quiet, a gentle, soft sort of quiet where no one’s waiting to speak. Han rubs her belly slowly, easing the stretching of their baby pushing outwards. He doesn’t speak, giving her time to think. Sliding off the bench, she turns into him so that her face rests on his chest and he holds her tightly enough that her thoughts cease clamoring. 

Han cradles her shoulders, content to wait. When she finally lifts her head, he beams at her, smug as a Lothal cat. “You did good.”

“Luke-”

Nodding, he reaches for her cheek and holds her face, meeting her eyes. “I know.”

“Why would he?” 

“Because he loves you.”

“That much?”

Chuckling, Han nods. His thumb brushes her jaw. “Yeah.”

“He’s an idiot.”

His fingers trace patterns along her neck and she’s so tired that falling asleep standing out is a real possibility. She’s only done that once or twice before, never pregnant, and navigating the last few things they need before bed seems like an insurmountable task until they’re in bed, Han spooned tightly against her back, his hand on her belly. 

“You could really hear them talking?”

He nods, nuzzling closer to the back of her neck. “Only towards the end. Maybe there was just so much Force-craziness in here that I couldn’t help it. Just got taken along for the ride.” 

“I’m sorry you got pulled into that,” she says, needing him to hear it because he’s not an anchor, or a mynock stuck to her hull, he’s hers and that’s something she’s never going to let go. Maybe Luke understands that now. She still pictures him staring down the Emperor, refusing the most powerful being in the galaxy, because he loves her. She lost her parents, her planet, and then gained a brother, and the long arms of her husband. 

He kisses the back of her neck, then lifts himself up so he can kiss her cheek. “I love you, and as a former smuggler, I understand a lot of stuff comes along with that. After politics, the Force stuff is almost pleasant.” 

Turning her head to look at him, she returns his smile. “You don’t think that.” 

“I love you.” He repeats. “That means I like most of it, and will begrudgingly put up with the rest, princess.” 

She strokes his chin, then they kiss, and his mouth’s warm. He’s warmer, and she settles in, hoping the baby also decides to sleep through the night. 

* * *

The baby wakes her, at least, that’s what she thinks at first, because her belly’s tight, suddenly sore, like when their baby stretches too far, but this continues, pulling in, not moving. She catches her breath, staring at the stone wall in the darkness. Han’s still wrapped around her, legs and arms curled over hers. His breathing’s still slow, regular, and he doesn’t hurt so he can sleep. 

The pain fades slowly, retreating, but the baby’s awake now too. Their feet twitch, as if in protest. It could be nothing. Perhaps she’ll fall back asleep and this, like all the other strange tightenings of her muscles, is nothing. The remnants of pain creep into her back, like fire retreating to dull embers. Han sleeps and the baby quiets. She reaches for them, caresses their energy, finding both of them in the Force. Han’s still, strong and steady and the baby flits, like an excited bird because sleep and waking must be so different when your mind is so new. 

She’s half asleep again when the pain comes back, tight, cramping and she can’t sleep. It drags her back awake as if demanding to be noticed. Leia reaches for Han again, finding him with her mind because he at least, gets to sleep. He doesn’t hurt. His thoughts lie still like water, and he’s here. One of his hands rests on her chest and his heart beats against her back. She’s safe, she repeat to herself, letting the pain nip at her. 

It takes her a moment to remember the date, and another pain grinds through her while she tries to decide if she likes today as a birthday. It’s still early, but it could be tomorrow. Tomorrow’s date has a softer ring to it, but that means this will stalk her for the rest of this day. Can she hold onto that? It already hurts, a tugging, sandpaper kind of pain, and she can ignore it, breath through it, think of other things, but there’s already an inevitability to the returning of that tightness. 

It comes back. Creeping up until it washes over her and she drifts with it. Han’s steady enough that she can focus on him, use him as an anchor. Luke’s further away, and she can’t find his sleeping presence. He’d remind her to concentrate on the Force, to let that flow through and let the pain flow with it. Let it rush and still, because the Force is eternal.

She loses track of the number of contractions, or any concept of time. The darkness fades to grey, then a soft yellow light creeps into her eyelids. The sun’s coming up, Han will wake soon and she’ll have to tell him. She imagines his smile and opens her eyes, but his face is there, above her. She didn’t feel him move. Didn’t know he woke. 

He rubs his fingers across her cheek, then kisses her forehead. He’s watched her. Her belly starts to tighten again, discomforting rising, and his eyes meet hers, stay with hers. He slows his breathing, guiding hers, being her anchor. 

She doesn’t speak, doesn’t make it real with words, but he kisses her forehead as the contraction releases her. Han helps her roll over so they lie face to face. One of his legs drapes across hers. 

One of them should count, grab a chrono, do something other than lie there, waiting out her contractions in heartbeats and breaths, but there’s nothing else she needs. 

And no hurry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia gives birth, and in her most vulnerable moment, finally understands the lure of the Dark Side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many many thanks to shinewithalltheuntold, for being such a great fic journey companion, and ehc6j for talking childbirth with me. 
> 
> Apologies for how long this took, life got silly for awhile.

He knows that look on Luke’s face. It’s ‘Leia cut her hand on a lightsaber crystal there’s blood all over the workbench can you--’ and ‘she took a few breaths of coolant, and I don’t know what to do’, especially ‘we were plotting a trade route in the fleet briefing and Leia said she was going to be sick’. Even as a grown up, very famous, Jedi Knight, little things: his sister bleeding, half-passing out when they helped repair the _Falcon_ , or throwing up in the refresher weren’t things, he was ready to handle. 

And hey, Han could take those things. He knew first aid and could usually guess when a cut needed a stitcher in addition to a bacta plaster. He’d inhaled enough coolant from the Falcon to know that after some fresh air, and a headache, it was fine, but looking after his pregnant wife while she was nauseated was new. Leia was easy to look after because she so rarely complained, except about the inconvenience of not being able to sit in meetings all day. He teased her relentlessly because wanting to be in meetings instead of getting out of them, was the wrong way around, and everyone but her knew that. 

Maybe the bond between Lei and her brother made it too intense when she was in pain, because for weeks, the moment she was sick to her stomach, Luke went pale. Han could pass her tea and toast, even sit with her on the floor in the refresher and read reports out loud so she had something to listen to. When he got sarcastic enough, or read the notes in a silly voice, she’d hit him, or laugh, and that made being stiff and cold on the floor entirely fine. Perfectly acceptable, because she curled up against him when it wasn’t bad, and they talked, and all the little things they still didn’t know about each other made good stories. Han didn’t have many stories of childhood, but he had a few stray memories of growing up, of the people he knew. His adventures as a smuggler, especially when he got himself into trouble, often made her smile, so he might have elaborated, borrowed a story or two. Leia usually caught him after a time, but even that distracted her. 

He hadn’t needed to distract her yet this morning. Her contractions continue, growing closer together, but the pain isn’t important, and isn’t enough to even bother her yet. This is necessary, the final stage after months of waiting for the kid. Her breathing only changes a little, hitches when they peak, and that’s nothing she can’t deal with. She even smiles a little as they strengthen, because this is something she can master, something she can do other than wait. 

She’s terrible at waiting, worse than him by a matter of degrees. When they reached the baby’s arrival window, every day without labor drove her crazy. Not that she hates being pregnant, because she’s been gracious and tough, but she’s never been patient. Sharing her body, ceding control to a squirming, kicking parasite who made it very hard for her to concentrate while the New Republic formed around them. 

That same impatience meant she would never have waited to have a child. Not that they had to wait very long after they deactivated their contraceptives, because that part of their relationship has always gone pretty spectacularly well, and these odds were good. It took less than a handful of months, and their first anniversary passed with the kid twisting within her. She curled up beside him that night, slipping into his arms, and slept while he held her belly and their kid tapped secret messages into his hands. 

Now the kid shifts, as if they too know that this is the end of this phase, that they’re not going to be safe inside of their mother much longer. The universe if wonderful and terrible, but they’ll get to show the baby everything from the Boruu nebula to the shining worlds of the Core systems. Though baby doesn’t seem like a thing of wonder just yet. Leia still has to get through this, and though she has the pain tolerance of a wampa, it’s still an ordeal. Hopefully, he’s hiding his concern better than Luke. He has to be, the kid’s an open book. 

Luke touches her shoulder, studying her face before he looks at Han. “I felt--” Luke begins. 

“I’m all right,” she promises, tugging him down to hug him. “I’m sorry that woke you.”

“Sorry? I thought some dregs of the Empire might have found you. Bounty hunters.” He runs his hand through his hair then stares at her belly. “Should have realized. I was ready to run down to your room.”

“I tried to tell you I was all right.” 

Luke kisses her cheek. “I got that, eventually. You were with Han, you were safe.” He holds her shoulders for a moment then shakes his head and turns to Han. “I don’t think I’ve ever found your presence that calming.”

“Just because you don’t appreciate my charms…” Han wraps his arm around Leia’s back, keeping her close. “We were going to take a walk, try and get gravity on our side.”

“That’s okay?”

Leia nods but her eyes harden. Luke must feel the next contraction starting too, because he winces. For a second, Han doesn’t even know who to comfort. Luke might need it more because Leia’s been between cold steel and smiling. 

“Dr. Waceera did a quick scan for us, everything looks good,” Han assures him when Leia’s slow to speak. “Head’s down.”

“And that’s good.”

Leia nods, then pats Luke’s cheek. “Unfortunately baby shares dad’s sense of timing, but head down is the right position for take off.” 

Han chuckles because if she can tease him, damn right he’s going to laugh. “I seem to remember some of those were your fault.” 

She shrugs, and takes a step. He grabs the bag of supplies because he is not walking more than a meter from the castle without backup. Luke falls in next to them, regaining his color as the contraction ends. Leia’s grip on his arm loosens a little, but Luke’s the one who’s more relieved. 

“It’s worse when you’re closer,” Leia says, lifting her eyes up towards the soft sun of the morning. The trees hum around them, quiet, as if they’re also waiting on the kid. “More intense.”

“Great,” Luke replies, turning to Han as if somehow he can help. 

He can’t. He has less force-sensitivity than the _Falcon_ does. 

“You said you needed practice shutting me out,” Leia teases. She gestures to her belly, then looks up again, shutting her eyes as the sun falls on her face. “Now would be a good time.” 

“I’ll work on it.” 

They walk on, Leia leading, Luke a step behind, and they’re slow through the woods towards the water. Leia keeps touching the trees, but she’s not searching for balance, maybe it’s a Force thing, because Luke’s just as fidgety. Han counts the contractions, keeping track of how long Leia’s eyes are metal. She smiles when Luke shakes his head, wincing. 

“Reminds me of sandburns.” He says, settling down on the blanket, watching the water. Leia doesn’t sit, so Han stands beside her. She reaches back, finding his arm, then his hand. She wraps her fingers around his and stares at the water. 

“What are sandburns?” Leia asks, her head resting against his arm. Does the water remind her of home? He’s seen holos of the palace where she grew up, but there had to be other places. Her fingers tighten in his. 

“When you get caught out, and your skin’s exposed, and the wind tears at it.” Luke’s voice catches as he replies. Han counts, because he can’t share this the way Luke can. He would if he could, if only to know that Leia’s all right, because once it starts to really hurt, it’ll probably take her hours to tell him. She holds her pain close, even when it’s only physical. 

“You okay?” Luke asks, shutting his eyes. Maybe he’s trying to keep her out. “Did that doctor say how long it would take?”

Leia smirks, then looks up at him, but Luke can’t see it her face. Han pulls her closer, wrapping her in his arms, holding her seems like the least he can do. 

“Hours,” he answers for her. “An unknown number, probably less than what, forty?”

Leia makes a sound of disapproval, but Luke’s eyes pop open. 

“Forty?”

“It’s hard to know,” Han says. “Twelve, maybe more. Depends on how much of a hurry the little guy’s in.” 

“Not much of one,” Leia mutters, then tugs him towards the water. “Come on, moon jockey.” 

He kisses her forehead and follows, leaving Luke to his meditation in the sunshine. The path down to the water is level, and they make their way slowly. She refuses to stop during contractions, because they’re not bad. Han hasn’t been sandburnt, but this is okay if it hurts. It’s always hard to get that through to her, because she holds her pain close, tight to her chest. She was trained to resist torture and honed her skills against Darth Vader. Pain is a weakness she won’t allow herself, even now. She’ll soften it by telling him it’s not that bad, that she’s fine. 

Leia uses him for balance and slips out of her shoes. Tiny stones made a dark carpet underfoot, and they hiss as she walks to the water. Her feet almost shine white in contrast and he sits, pulling off his own boots to follow her in. 

“I would have set my parents’ ashes free on a lake like this,” she says, staring out over the water. “If they’d died later, when they- or if there was a lake left.” She blinks, clearing her eyes, then stares up at the sun. “It seems wrong to think about their deaths.”

He takes a step towards her, gasping as the cold water embraces his feet. Leia smirks, then reaches for him, slipping into his arms. 

“You miss them.”

“Think they would have suggested that we adopt?” 

She catches her breath, blowing the air across her lips as she exhales. He’s used to counting his way out of a dive, waiting for the right moment to take a shot; this has all the intensity and none of the danger. This is life.

“Maybe.”

They sway in the water while his feet go numb and they creep back up to the coarse sand. Leia keeps her head against his chest, and her fingers wind into his shirt. 

“My mother used to tell me how hard it was for my father to put me down. When we arrived back, he told her that I wouldn’t sleep unless someone held me. So they held me, all the time. My mother used to take me to meetings.”

He laughs, because even as an infant, she went to meetings. “I hope you had the sense to sleep through them then.” Running his hands over her back, he rests his fingers on her lower back, just over her pelvis. “You can take the baby to meetings.” He presses into her back, and her little gasp suggests that helps. 

“It’s here, isn’t it?” 

She makes a noise, soft and grateful. He waits for her breath to slow. Her contractions have risen with the sun, growing in strength. She says so little, just leans into his chest. Maz said the baby might be up against her back, that it might hurt there, and it does, but will not break her. 

Leia strokes his chin. “I wish my parents had met you.”

“Me? The space pirate.” He lifts her eyes to his, then bends down to kiss her. She whispers against his lips. 

“My father loved pirates. Had all sorts of adventures with them.” She shifts, looking back up the path. “Do you think Luke’s gotten me out of his head yet?”

“I hope he has for his sake, poor kid’s suffered enough, hasn’t he?” 

She kisses his nose, and her smile could rival the sun. Han follows her up the path, hands on her hips. They still walk through the contractions, but she doesn’t speak through them now. He mutters, whispers to her, saying nothing important, telling stories that he finishes slowly, almost lazily, during the next contraction, and the next. 

Luke’s better closed off now, he no longer winces with her, and that’s better. It takes the guilt from her, makes her smile, because his only pain is empathy now. He helps hold Leia’s hands, and it’s easier for him to guide Han’s fists against Leia’s back. They head back to the castle as the sun sets, Leia between them. 

She pants now, set teeth firm in her jaw. When pain washes over her resolve, she leans against him, Luke’s hands on her back. The stairs back up in the castle are much harder going up than they were coming down. Han holds tight to her, aware of the sweat clinging to her clothes and how her feet are less sure.

Maz and Dr. Waceera both sit waiting for them in their room, swinging their feet over the bench. Han’s Sullustan has never been great, but Luke’s hear to listen when Han can’t, and Maz translates. 

“Your baby’s head is down, but turned.” Maz gestures with her hand, making a fist that she turns so her thumb faces her. She gestures to the curve of her hand. “The back of baby’s head’s against her spine, her pelvis, The baby will make his way down, but it may be harder, be slow. You must wait. I know you’re tired.” 

Leia wipes damp hair from her forehead and shakes her head. “I’m fine.” 

“We know,” Maz promises her. “You can be fine and tired at the same time.” 

Waceera and Maz debate something, speaking quickly to each other. Luke touches Leia’s shoulder, then turns to Han. “Maz said there’s food. I’ll get it.” 

“You have to eat,” Leia reminds him, balling her fingers into a fist in his shirt. “When it’s here. You--”

“I’ll eat,” Han promises, pulling her in closer. “When have you known me to turn down food?”

“Don’t joke.” 

When she’s facing him he can see the contraction begin in her eyes, taking the steady ache from her back and making it burn. He whispers to her, breathes with her, lets her be the center of his universe while she needs him. The sun sets without him, and the lights in the wall come on one by one, soft and buried in the stone. He doesn’t notice Waceera leaving, or Luke returning with food, until the latter passes him meat wrapped in flatbread. 

Leia pats his chest, pleased that he’s eating. He’s not sure why it means so much to her. She’s refused food since breakfast, and he can get her to drink tea, some of the fruit juice. As happy as she is that he’s eating, Han recognizes the nausea in her eyes. He guides her to Luke, helping her hands find his shoulders. He’ll eat behind her back, rest his elbow against her spine. Gulping down his food, Han forgets he even ate it as the last mouthful passes his lips. 

Leia comes back to his arms, safe against his chest. He can protect her from so little of the galaxy, giving her what his has seems small after what she’s done; all she’s sacrificed. He breathes with her, for her, because she’s sinking out of awareness, out of caring. The rhythm slips, and even with his hands, or Luke’s on her back, there’s no break, no pause. In the darkness, she sinks, barely speaking. Her pain vibrates, almost enough to be in the air around them, like electricity. 

He holds her, swaying back and forth over the straw and reeds on the floor. She’s been at this before dawn, before he woke, and she hasn’t mentioned being tired. Leia hasn’t said it hurts, hasn’t looked at him to ask how long she has to endure. How much longer must she fight. She’s always up for a fight. 

His world shrinks to her breathing, her sweat on his skin, the weight on her as they rock back and forth. The soft pop, startles them both, and then water trickling, splashing on his their bare feet. She gasps, then moans, her voice sharp in her throat. 

“Leia?”

She won’t look at him, eyes screwed shut. Fluid soaks into her skirt, disappearing into the thick reeds on the floor. Her knees buckle before she steels herself. The hand on his back moves to his arm, tightens her grip. 

“Your water broke.”

He gets half a nod against his chest, a whimper of acknowledgement through gritted teeth. Han touches her hair, then her cheek. He needs to check, make sure she’s not bleeding, that the water’s clear. She grips his arm harder, fingers like spots of shrapnel.

“It’s worse.”

That she doesn’t acknowledge. Maz must be right about the baby’s head, how it’s tight against her bones, shifting her spine on its way down, burning every centimeter. 

“Can you hold onto the wall?” He still needs to look, get her out of her overdress. “I’ll be right here.” Luke would be a help right about now, but he’s not here. Maz is also absent from the hallway. 

Chewie’s all the way downstairs, probably destroying the competition in holochess because he can’t handle Leia sufferin, big, soft-hearted fuzzball. 

He shifts her hands from him to the cool stone, moves around her when she has her balance. He presses his fist against her back, feeling along her spine, right above her pelvis, if he pushes hard enough he can almost feel the bones shift. She gasps, sharp, surprised, maybe relieved, because the tension eases, just a little. 

“There?”

She nods, beads of sweat trickling down her neck beside the long braid. Han rests one fist there, Pressing down until he has to be breaking her, but she nods again. 

“That helps.” Her voice is rough, and it must have been hours since she’s spoken to him. 

“Okay, I can do that. Stay with me.” He undoes the laces of her dress with one hand, stripping her down to her underdress. It’s transparent with sweat, but she radiates heat. Her dress falls in a heap at her feet. She’ll need to step out of it. He puts his fist beside the other and checks her legs. There’s no blood on her skin, no other colors. Nothing to worry about, other than the hours of labor left. That’ll be fine. 

“This way,” he suggests, keeping his hands against her. “Two steps.” 

“Han-”

“Two steps,” he repeats, guiding her hips. She obliges, but turns, shifting in his arms. His hands come off her back, and he expects to lose her again to whatever quiet place she needs. 

Instead, Leia looks at him, her eyes soft but distant, as if she’s far from here. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” he replies, confused. “Are you in Luke’s head? Don’t hurt the kid now. He’s not--”

“Not Luke,” Leia says, staring at him- through him. “It doesn’t hurt.” Her breath still rises, tightening as her muscles clamp down, but she holds his gaze. “I don’t know.” 

“Han-” Luke’s back, demanding his attention in the doorway. 

“Wait.” Something’s wrong. 

Leia still leans on the wall, half balanced on him. Somehow she smiles, and that sensation, like electricity, dust, maybe insects, crawling over his skin, returns. 

Luke insists. “Han, she’s projecting.”

He reaches for her face, cups her cheek. “Projecting what? She’s not a shield array.” 

“They’re all under her power,” Maz adds, slipping past Luke into the room. “Everyone downstairs.”

“Leia?”

They’re fine,” she answers, standing up a little straighter. “They’ll be fine.”

“Projecting what?” Han asks Luke without turning his head. Leia needs his attention. Her hands rest on his chest, not digging into his shirt, not balled in pain, but palms flat, calm. 

“Her pain,” Luke finishes. “And it’s strong; Leia’s very powerful. The minds down there, they’re smugglers, pirates, they--”

“Have no defense,” Maz finishes for him. She crosses the room to them and looks up at Leia. Then she pats her knee, her small fingers bright orange against Leia’s sweat-soaked skin. “Let them go.”

“I will,” Leia says, and the distance seems to grow. She doesn’t even need to lean against the wall now, even with her heart pounding in her chest, and her lungs panting with exertion, she’s separate from that. Even though he’s covered in her sweat, and his own, it’s suddenly cold. “It’ll only be a few hours. Faster now, I think.”

“You can’t take over their minds,” Luke says, following Maz in. He stares at his sister, his expression tender. “It’s not right to take advantage, even if it helps you.” 

“They will be fine,” Leia insists, her voice stronger now, more level and even more cold. “You wanted me to learn control.” 

“You’re hurting them,” Luke reminds her, standing beside Han. With him this close, it’s easy to make out the tears in his eyes; much this drags at his heart. “You can’t hurt the innocent.” 

Leia lifts her hand from Han, and holds it in front of Luke. Energy crackles, racing through the sweat on Han’s chest. “They’re not innocent. These are spice runners, killers, thieves. They take from the innocent.”

“We don’t punish.”

Han looks from one sibling to the other, and his heart aches because he could side with Leia. He could let her dump her pain into the minds of a bunch of bottom-feeders, and sure, they’ll be entranced, maybe sob into their drinks. What does it matter? Hasn’t she suffered enough for several lifetimes? The galaxy owes her one. 

“Leia,” Maz begins, “you look after those weaker than you. You know that is your duty.”

Wavering, Leia crashes her hand back into Han’s chest. Pain must rush back into her like a tidal wave, or some kind of shock. She have collapses, knees buckling, as they did before, and he grabs her, holding her upright between him and the wall. 

Luke’s there, but Han takes her weight. He always has.

“No-” her voice breaks, hissing through her throat. “I don’t- why do I?”

“You are strong,” Maz reminds her. “You are safe.”

Another voice, softer, older, joins Maz and Han doesn’t even look to see where it’s coming from, because Leia’s in his arms, gasping against his chest. All that matters is her, what she needs. 

“You are loved,” the voice adds. “This pain, like all agonies of life, will pass. It will wash over you and leave you. You will endure, and you will raise your child.”

She shakes her head, fingers like iron around Han’s arm. “I can make them bear it,” she starts in a whisper, but her voice gains cold strength. “I can make everything--” 

Outside, even the lazy nightbirds stop cooing. It’s so quiet that the reeds whisper beneath her feet. 

“That is the dark side,” the voice, Obi-Wan, because dammit, if the old man’s not there, standing beside Luke. He glimmers, blue-white, like a flickering holo, but it’s him. Crazy old wizard. “And it’s tempting, it pormises you that you will be safer, better, stronger, that those you love won’t have to share you pain, or have any of their own. Why stop with your pain, Leia? Why not take Han’s exhaustion, Luke’s worry, take all the negative emotions of those you love and pass them on?”

“I could--” 

For a terrifying moment, she does, and his exhaustion lifts away. He could have just gotten out of bed, instead of been awake before dawn, bone-tired. Han shivers. It’s not cold, and Leia’s against him like a furnace, but he shivers as if he’s back on Hoth. He’d rather be tired. 

“You know that would be wrong. You know this is wrong, and you’re afraid, of course you’re afraid. Your mother--”

“Died.” Leia’s tone’s flat now. Like the stone she’s standing on. “Maybe she didn’t have to. If father had been stronger, he could have saved her. He could have taken her death, given it to someone more worthy. The Force can do that, I can feel it.”

“No,” Luke whispers, reaching for her face. “Let that go.”

“Why?” 

“Because you are not of the Dark Side, Leia, you’re not. You’re better than that.”

She looks at him, her dark eyes locked with his, full of accusation, of suffering. “My planet is dead, my parents, everyone I knew. I buried soldiers in the war faster than I could write letters to their families. I’ve been tortured, my husband’s been tortured. Our father nearly killed him--”

“But I’m still here,” Han promises her. “I’m still here.”

“If I’d known I could do this, bend people, make them comply, all of that didn’t have to happen. I could have looked at Governor Tarkin and killed him, _choked_ him, made his foul heart stop beating before he destroyed my world.”

“I thought if I was just strong enough, if I knew enough of the secrets if the Force, I could cheat death. Save your mother,” Anakin says, and Han’s not even sure when he got here, but he’s not Darth Vader. He’s just a kid, younger than Luke. “And I killed her.”

Obi-Wan touches Anakin’s shoulder, and Han’s never seen anyone be that forgiving. “No matter what you gain, the Dark Side leads to suffering.” 

“So does the light,” Leia snaps, taking a step away from Han, from the Force ghosts. “Everything I have ever done, all that I’ve believed in, been willing to die for, that only brought pain.”

Han wants to protest that they’ve been pretty damn good together, but it’s not the time. She doesn't need him to be anything. She’s got Luke to be a moral compass.

“To be alive is to suffer, and feel pain,” Luke says. “You can shift it with the Force, bury it, make someone else feel it, but that’s all futile. It’s still pain. It’s inevitable. You just have to let it come.”

The cold vanishes, like a warm wind’s races through the room. He has his arms around her before he’s even aware of moving, because without the strength she’s been taking from the Force, Leia can barely stand. She doesn't push him away. Doesn't insist she’s fine. This time, she shivers, trembling against him. They sink down, her almost in his lap. She shakes, her hands like lost creatures against his chest. 

A bird tentatively sings outside, breaking the silence. Leia curls against him, so small, and so spent of energy. 

“Tell her to let it wash over, to surrender,” Luke says, kneeling down next to them. “It’s the only way.” 

Han nods to him, sparing a glance at the flowing blue faces and Maz, all huddled together, speaking in whispers. 

“I’ll tell her,” he promises Luke. It’s important, less important than stroking her hair, or getting her comfortable on her knees, with her head against his chest and her whole upper body in his lap. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “We’re here. We’re not going anywhere. We’re not going to leave you. I won’t.” 

Some logical part of his brain reminds him that the trembling is normal. That this is transition, and everything he read was for this, so he can get her through. The reeds are the floor are soft and thick, so she’s okay where she is. He strokes her hair, repeating words with the same meaning. He’s here, they’re all here for her, for the baby. She can do this, she’s the strongest, most capable person he knows, and he loves her. She doesn’t speak. Leia sits up a little, but only to empty her stomach. 

He’s covered in sweat, in the tea she drank an hour ago, and when she slips oto her elbows and knees, face towards the floor, he strips off his shirt, leaving it with her dress, forgotten. 

“Press on her back, base of her spine” he tells Luke. “That helps.” He drops to the floor, leaning down beside her, his face near hers. 

“Surrender’s not as fun as the Dark Side, is it?” He runs his finger along her cheek. The hitch in her breathing relaxes a little when Luke adds pressure to her back. 

“That’s it,” he tells Luke, and then he forgets about him, because Leia’s her own world. He doesn’t want to think about how she’ll punish herself, how terrible she’ll feel when she knows what she did; how close she came to losing herself. 

“If you need to take over someone’s mind, you have mine. It’s been yours a long time.”

Leia doesn’t speak, but he feels her, she caresses his thoughts, brushes against him as if she’s stroking his head in the dark. 

“I never wanted a kid before. Did I tell you? The galaxy’s a big, scary place full of bounty hunters and Hutts, and I thought, you know, I just won’t. I’ve seen what happens to kids. I’ve been that kid.” He touches her face, then her neck, and lets his words follow the motion of his hands, lazy and unhurried. “But you burst into my life, and it all changed. I had hope for the galaxy. I saw it becoming better, knew it could be. There were things I’d look at, and think a kid might like that. I’d like to show a kid what a tsikalg fruit tastes like. And that potential kid always looked like you. Had to, because you were the center of my hope.

“You and your big ideas about overthrowing the Empire.”

“Keep talking,” Obi-Wan says, seeming to be more solid than he was a moment ago. He crouches beside Han. “Give her something to focus on.”

“My rambling?”

“You,” Obi-Wan answers, smiling that wizard grin. “She loves you. She can surrender to that, and the Force, because they’re connected.” 

Han remembers his own insistence otherwise, so very long ago. He’s wrapped up in that Force mumbo-jumbo now, talking to a ghost. 

“What do I do?”

“Be here.” Obi-Wan suggests, and his smile grows. “Which you’ve done incredibly well. I’m very proud of you both, how far you’ve come. This birth is difficult, but at the same time, so much more joyous of an occasion as Luke and Leia’s own.” 

“You were there, weren’t you?” Luke asks. Their conversation continues above, while Luke obediently keeps pressure on her sacrum, dulling some of the pain. 

Leia’s eyes half-open, and she turns her head towards him. She reaches for him with the Force again, dragging her essence across his mind. It’s confusing, messy, and he doesn’t know what she’s saying, what’s happening, but the touch has two parts: one exhausted, worn, but steel. That’s Leia, but the other is tiny, not even--

The baby. She pulled herself inward, took all of this on herself, and found the baby. That fragile little mind’s there with her, and afraid. Of course the kid’s afraid, his nice comfy home’s closing in on him like a garbage compactor, and Leia’s mind, which must have been so steady, is lost in pain and chaos. 

“Luke, can you feel the baby?”

Leia’s hand reaches for him, connecting with him. Was this what she wanted?

“You should check on the baby.”

Luke doesn’t even demand to know why Han, the least Force sensitive person in the room, knows the baby needs reassurance. 

He shuts his eyes, and maybe they’re all in there, Leia, Luke and the baby, maybe they can talk to each other, help make sense of the fear and agony on this side of things. 

“Baby’s fine. Confused, I think,” Luke says, then shakes his head. “He knows Leia’s afraid.”

Sliding closer on the floor, he kisses her forehead, then her temple. He has no idea how to project his feelings, or how to reach her through the haze of physical torment, He concentrates, takes all the love he has for her and wraps it into a gravity well of emotion. It’s all there, every beautiful thought, all that he’s wanted to be, because of her. 

“Take it,” he whispers. “I don’t know what you need, what I can do for you and the little guy, but take it, take what I have. Find your own way to surrender. You’re not like Luke. You do it your way, princess.”

It’s not immediate. There’s not rushing cold like the coming of the Dark Side, no rain of fire as the Death Star exploded. Leia’s presence seeps into his mind, filling him with _her_ , and the weight of her guilt, her duty, all that she has to do. He’s tried to make that lighter, tried to help her find ways to make all that less of a burden. He believes in her, unerringly, without doubt, like he believes in staying the hell away from black holes. He offers her that in reply: his naked certainly that she is the bright center of his universe. 

Her and their baby. 

Luke must have gotten through to the kid. Obi-Wan pats his shoulder and his hand as a buzzing, strange kind of warmth. 

“I think the baby’s calmer. Leia can do more,” Luke says. “When she’s ready.” 

Han finally sits up, because he’s stiff, and Leia comes to him, her head on his thigh. She lies on her side, one hand on her belly, the other wrapped around his leg. He’s not even sure her contractions even end anymore, or if the pain of the baby making it’s way down her back has blocked all of that out. She hasn’t thrown up again, and the shaking slows, then stops. Her breathing improves, calms, and her fingers respond to his, moving with his touch.

Has it been decades? Did time even move? Maz and Obi-Wan discuss pushing, talk of what to wrap the baby in, and Luke pales a little when they mention all of the towels. 

Han leans down and kisses Leia’s forehead. “Getting close.” 

She shifts a little, turning her head to look up at him. “You’re still here.”

“Said I would be.” 

“You’ve never been good at leaving,” she mutters back. “I--”

He helps her sit up, holding her shoulders against the wall. “There you go.” 

“Why did- why- did it stop?”

Maz circles around, patting Leia’s bare knee. “So you can get your strength back to push. They’ll still come, but they’ll be slower.”

“Han.”

“I’m here.”

She reaches for his face with both of her hands and catches him, her fingers clumsy. “You are.”

“Of course.” He runs his hands over her legs, smiling. “You ready for this?” 

“No.”

He laughs, and kisses her cheek. The salt of tears and sweat remains on his lips. “Me either.” 

“What do we-?” she starts to ask, and loses the question. Something rises, surges, within her, and she grits her teeth. “Han.” 

He gives her his hands, helps keep her sitting up. “Maz?”

“Get her up, on the stool, legs apart.” The commands half for Luke, half for him, and the flurry of movement ends with Leia in front of him, her legs open on the low wooden stool. Luke’s behind her, and she’s almost in his lap, but it’s good because he can’t see the smears of blood on her thighs. 

“Han-” now his name’s a plea for something. “What do I?” Her exhausted gaze meets his, and instinct she didn’t known she had burns within her. This is his princess; headstrong and dauntless. 

“You push, sweet girl,” Maz says, arranging a nest of towels beneath Han’s open palms. “When you want to push, bear down, take Luke’s hands. Think about guiding your baby out, with us.” 

Leia almost asks what wanting to push feels like, Han sees the questions, but it fades, evaporates away. 

And he counts again, this time out loud, because she needs something focus on, a rhythm. They find that together, eyes locked on each other. Luke keeps her balanced, and it’s his fingers that she clings to as Han watches the swell of her belly shift, flatten out, and sink lower. 

Their baby has dark hair. That absurd thought sings through his mind like music. There’s more slippery, slimey sort of stuff on his hands, and Leia pants into his ear, her head on his shoulder. He saw the baby’s head, if only in a slit behind straining flesh. Her body parts, her efforts moving their baby down a little at a time. 

This, she’s comfortable with, prepared for. This takes will, and she always has that in abundance. 

“Slowly, slowly, Leia--” He doesn’t think, just places his hand against their baby’s head, and her swollen, stretched labia, because if she goes too fast she’ll tear. 

He’s been called worse than what she mutters, but he hasn’t heard anything that creative in nearly a decade. 

“Blow,” Maz says, pursing her lips in demonstration. “Blow like this. Have patience, let your body stretch.” 

Leia screws up her eyes and grabs Luke’s hand hard enough that he makes a sound of surprise. 

“Blow,” Han repeats, because Maz is right. The baby’s head dropped pretty quick, and Maz is usually right. “Wait. You can wait.” 

She growls at him, but she doesn’t push. He’ll take that. 

“What- what happened to your shirt?” Leia asks, searching desperately for something to focus on that isn’t how desperately she wants to push. 

“You threw up on it, and me.” Han answers, grinning. “Couple hours back.”

“That was yesterday,” Maz reminds him. She makes a neat line of implements on the table, scissors, and synth sutures. “Your little pirate here waited for today. It’s a better day.” 

“I did.” Leia blinks at the memory. “I did.” 

“I like that shirt.” 

She laughs, and for a beautiful moment, they laugh with each other, his hand still against the head of their baby, waiting. It’s all he can do to distract her, but she can wait. Leia endures everything the universe can throw at her. 

Even this. 

Several pushes later, with Leia’s head against his cheek. He realizes that the head of their baby has a face. Bright red eyelids, screwed shut, covered in blood and gook, a tiny nose, and lips. Even a chin. That little face looks up at him, the round ball of their baby’s skull finally resting in his hand instead of shoving so ruthlessly against her back. Han’s not sure if he sees Leia in that face, or himself, or just the terrifying possibilities of all that little face could do in the future. 

“I see,” he whispers to Leia. “I see our baby’s face. You’re so close.” 

She catches her breath, staring at Han, because the baby’s hidden from her still. “You--”

“The baby’s head is in my hand, right here.”

Leia whispers she loves him. Their baby’s shoulders join that face, one at a time. He’s caught up again, sharing her breath, her effort, the sheer force of will that’s brought their child this far. 

He doesn’t wriggle. Han could not be more grateful of that. Leia’s panting, sobbing, against him, and his hands are full of wet and rubbery-- Round head, long legs, long arms, flailing little fists. 

Their baby’s umbilical cord pulses against his belly, against his legs. Baby is their son. They stare together, Leia reaching for the tiny being who then decides to squirm, to breathe, and wail his arrival into the world. Han’s tears fall on their child’s slick skin. There are towels, so many of them, and he should dry the kid off, keep him warm, but Leia has him tight against her chest, wrapped in her arms. 

Their son.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia recovers from the birth, surrounded by family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many many thanks to shinewithalltheuntold, who always listens to me, brook-to-broch and ehc6j for being childbirth, my new baby and nursing experts. I am very grateful for all of you.

In the moment before he cries, before he twists in his father’s hands, she’s merely empty. Exhausted, spent of her purpose, because all she can remember is the struggle to bring him here. He seems both too small in Han’s arms and too big. He couldn’t have been inside of her, but those feet were up against her ribs only yesterday. 

Han passes her their baby, holding the little one against her chest. He doesn’t feel real, and her hands move so slowly. If she wasn’t held between Luke and Han, she probably couldn’t sit up, but then he’s in her arms, so warm and wet. 

Tears mark Han’s face, and she can’t find words. Baby, their nameless baby, snuggles against her chest. Looking down, she strokes his ear. She has to smell him, hold him close. His little heart races and hers wants to follow. He’s safe. She can’t speak, her throat’s not working. 

“He’s all right,” Han says, and maybe she needed him to say that for her. “He’s perfect.” 

She doesn’t know where to look, between her husband and their child, and Han’s trembling chin brushes against her forehead before he kisses her there. Reaching for him with shaking fingers, she leaves bloody marks, more blood, on his face, but he doesn’t mind. He understands. His mind vibrates with hers, because this is their shared purpose. This is their son, and he’s the middle of their universe, he’s everything. Han knows that. She feels that, shares it, maybe she’s projecting again because Luke holds her so gently. 

She loves them, her family, all so deeply, and the baby most of all. He’s so fragile, searching for her with his dark little eyes, with his mind. She takes the love she has for hi, for Han, for Luke, and shares that all with the baby. So he knows what it is to be safe, to be absolutely safe. Even from herself, and her own darkness. 

Han rubs him with a towel, taking off some of the mess covering his skin. Baby’s lips move, as if to protest, and she rocks him against her chest. 

“It’s okay.” 

“We need to cut the cord,” Han reminds her. He’s so gentle when he touches the baby’s belly, so reverent. His hands are stained, drying red-brown, and there’s white too, something from the baby. 

She knows it won’t hurt him, that the little clips Maz slips onto the blue-grey cord connecting her to the baby. 

“Cut here,” Maz tells him, pressing the knife into his hand. Han’s so careful that Leia’s not sure it’s done, until they’re guiding the baby into a towel and they’re separate. 

“There you go,” Maz whispers to the baby. “Lets hand you to your uncle so we can get your parents cleaned up.” 

That’s what they’re doing. Luke releases her shoulders and she slumps forward, unsteady, even while she’s sitting. Han has her, but without the baby her arms are weak as the mist over the lake. He holds her, really holds her, not just to keep her upright, but full of emotion. He kisses her head, again and again. She sighs, maybe sobs, into his neck. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” He slowly stands, offering his hands to help her. Their baby snuggles into Luke’s arms; her brother’s love washes over her, mixing with her own boundless affection, and it’s nearly enough to numb her exhaustion and the throbbing of her body. She’s been spent before, injured, ill, but this-- this is nearly more than she has. With Han’s assistance she stands on quivering legs, but it’s meters to the bed and even her feet hurt. 

He meets her eyes, his hands on her arms, keeping her up. They stand facing each other for a breath, then another, then he nods, almost to himself and lifts her, scooping her up into his arms. He’s been awake nearly as long as she has, and she’s taken so much from him; carries her across the unfathomable space to the bed. Han lies her down, shifting the pillows, fussing as she watches Luke and the baby follow him over. 

Maz climbs onto the bed as well, moving towels, muttering to herself. 

Han undoes the top of the slip she’s wearing, taking down the buttons so her breasts are exposed. 

“You just can’t resist, can you?”

“You, princess? Never,” he replies, winking even though he’s still crying. “This time it’s for the little guy,” he promises. Luke hands the baby to Han, beaming, and then her husband lays the baby reverently on her chest. 

The baby’s little fist brushes against her breast and she remembers why he’s on her, why Han opened her nightgown. Maz’s wise face peers at her just beside on the bed and Luke touches her knee, and baby’s in the middle of everything, of them. 

“Will he-?” How will he know what to do? Her breasts are so heavy that they must have been waiting for him. His tiny tongue moves in his lips, and maybe he knows, somehow. Having him squirm on her chest is almost as strange as him moving within her, and his head turns, so clumsily. 

"He'll figure it out," Maz promises. "Babies know." 

“And he’s obviously very intelligent,” Han teases. 

“Like his mother.”

“Yeah,” Han agrees. He smiles enough that the skin around his eyes crinkles. She keeps looking back and forth between him and the baby, because she can’t look at either of them enough. Baby’s fists move along her breast, and his heavy head follows, searching. This is why her nipples ached, and itched, and drove her crazy, why her breasts leaked and changed so much. For him, so he’d find them, so he’ll grow. His tiny mouth finding her nipple is one of the most bizarre sensations of her life, because it almost hurts, on top of all the other pains in her body, but it’s soothing somehow, calming. 

He’s okay. This little boy is healthy, and here, and she’s so grateful that it almost hurts. Maybe it does. Something tightens while he’s suckling, and she’s back in the pain, it’ll all rush back, but it’s not that. It’s not nearly what it was. She must have panicked, because Lue’s closer, Han’s right next to her and Maz pats her shoulder. 

“Just the afterbirth, it’s all right. It’ll be easy.” Maz slips around her knee, and she’s right. Something soft, warm, wet, whatever it is, slips from her as her belly tightens. Baby continues to nurse, sucking greedily for someone so new to the world. 

She grits her teeth, because it doesn’t hurt, not as much as it did, but she’s so tired. 

“Hey,” Han whispers, stroking her face. “Look at him. You got him all this way, and he’s perfect. He looks so much like you.” 

Leia almost laughs. “That’s your nose.”

Han kisses her cheek. “My ears too, maybe my chin. He eats like you though.” 

“What?” She tries to see, because the baby’s mouth is half-hidden by her breast and she doesn’t--

Very gently, Han brushes her breast lifts of a drop of liquid that must have leaked from baby’s mouth. “He eats like you when you’ve been in Senate things all day.”

She’d hit him, if she had the energy. Blinking seems difficult, at the moment. Maz moves something wrapped in a towel from between Leia’s legs, and then she takes Han’s attention and he’s gone. 

Luke fixes her pillows, he must be able to tell that they’re too high on the right. She didn’t say it, because it’s so difficult to speak. He holds up the bottle they’ve been making her drink from, and even with a straw, that’s hard. She probably loses more liquid around her lips than the baby does. Should she move him to the other side? Is that how it works? She read about this, but she can’t remember. Her thoughts just won’t hold still, and her thighs are still wet. Is that what Maz and Han needed to talk about? She can’t see his face, and he’s been right n front of her for such a long time that it’s weird not to have his eyes be her focal point. 

“He’s beautiful, Leia.”

“He’s heavy.”

Leaning down, Luke kisses his nephew’s dark hair and straightens the blanket over his back. “He is heavier than I thought a baby would be.” His hand stays there, protecting them both. “You did so well.”

“Luke--”

“I love you. And you,” Luke whispers to the baby. “Welcome to the big world.” 

When he’s full, or bored, or sleepy, Leia can’t tell, it’s all too new, baby releases her nipple and snuffles his way between her breasts. His little eyes start to close, and his fingers stop searching. She could very easily join him, because her agonized body is so very tired, but her mind races in no particular direction. Like lightspeed without a course. 

Han returns to her line of vision, standing beside Luke, still shirtless, but cleaner. “Maz and Waceera agreed that the afterbirth is what it’s supposed to be, for a weird jellyfish thing.” 

She doesn’t know what that means. She can’t remember. Han kisses her cheek, then very gently, he kisses her mouth. He sits beside her, beaming at their sleepy little boy. “When you’re ready to share him, I want him to meet Chewie, and get you cleaned up.” 

Smiling at the thought of Chewie with the tiny bundle in his arms, she nods, but her head barely moves. “Yes.”

Han kisses her forehead and she just wants him to stay in bed with her. “Luke’s going to hold the baby while I get you out of this and into something clean, okay?” The look on her face must say what she can’t and he chuckles. “I promise you won’t have to do any of the work. I’ll make it easy.”

That he does well, slipping her nightgown under her hips, then helping her sit up long enough to take it off over her head. Luke and the sleeping baby stand a little away, giving her some semblance of privacy, not that she cares in the slightest. Han wipes sweat from her skin with a wet cloth, and even his hands are unsteady with exhaustion. He does get her into a clean nightgown with very little effort on her part, guiding her arms as if she were as weak as the baby herself. If only she was too tired to be sore, everywhere, and her belly isn’t done contracting, even with the baby across the room in Luke’s arms. Maz's little hands lead his across, massaging her still-painful stomach, helping it start to heal. 

Somehow she manages to swallow more water that’s salty-sweet. Field electrolytes: she knows the taste. Maybe it’s fitting because this was a battle, longer than one she’s had to fight for many years, and more person. She hasn’t been that far inside herself since Darth Vader, her father, though neither of them knew, held her and she watched her world die. 

Emotion thuds at her, rushing in like waves against a breakwater. The baby’s fine, he’s safe in Luke’s arms and Han’s taking him to meet Chewie while he sleeps, Han kisses her again, holding her face with his hands. 

“I always say you’re the strongest person I know, but hey, you don’t have to prove it for awhile now, okay? I believe you. The whole galaxy does.” Part of her would cling to him if she had the strength, but the tremendous effort it would take to move her arms isn’t something she can summon. “I love you.”

She nods, and smiling at him aches marginally less than just breathing. Maz sits beside her, her small hands still moving across Leia’s swollen and now deflated belly, kneading her like a Lothal cat. 

“You can sleep, now,” Maz says, shaking her head. “You’ve seen all of a day and most of a night, You’ll wake when baby needs you.”

Baby needs a name. 

“He’s very precious,” Ob-Wan adds, smiling down at her with such gentleness. “I remember holding you, when you were that small, and it brings me great joy to see you here, now.” His smile broadens, filling his translucent face with warmth. “Though, I think you were smaller.” 

She licks her lips and Maz fusses and makes her drink more. Swallowing hasn’t been this hard. 

“When I handed you to your father, he held you all the way home,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Kind of like Han. He’s come so far from Mos Eisley. ” 

“You can’t say you saw this coming,” Maz teases him and they way they look at each other-- “You said you only saw the possibility.”

“You agreed with me, though, neither of us had any idea that the two of you would be so happy.” Obi-Wan reaches out, touching her shoulder in a way that feels like starlight. “Rest, take some time for your family. You’ve done enough for the galaxy.”

She’s vaguely aware of Obi-Wan following Maz, taking the light with him. Leia’s almost asleep when the other voices arrive. Not Han, who she feels downstairs: he’s a knot of joy that gleams like a sun, or Luke, who’s softer, but no less pleased. She doesn’t know the new arrivals. 

“Can she see me?”

“I don’t know. Obi-Wan said the Force is strong here, and the birth brought much of it to the surface. It’s easier to manifest.” That voice she knows. 

Opening her eyes is such a chore, but she forces them. That blue Force-glow is back, but not Obi-Wan. She knows the presence of Obi-Wan. 

The unknown voice, the female one, speaks again and some part of her does know who this is. “She’s so brave.”

“She’s like you,” the voice promises. “Completely unstoppable.” 

“Ani--” the voice stops. “Ani, she’s awake.”

Her vision drifts, struggling to focus on a face, on a person, but there are two. Anakin, whose expression is soft and tentative. Leia starts to try to speak, but there’s a woman next to him, that she knows and doesn’t know. Someone she’s never seen outside of a holocube, but she’s here. 

Leia knows her. She didn’t think she could, her mind couldn’t possibly hold the memories for so long ago, but she knows her. This is her birth mother. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Padmé says, smiling down at her. Having her above is so strange, because Leia only remembers her being lower, and the scent of Obi-Wan and Jedi robes. “You are so brave, and your baby, he’s so beautiful.” 

Did she watch? Are her parents here too? She misses Bail and Breha so much that her chest aches, but they’re not connected to the Force, not the way Padmé is, or Han, and she can’t will them into being. 

“You’ll get to be with him,” Padmé whispers, and Leia senses her regret. She never held her children, or knew the strangeness of a baby sucking on her breast. “Take care of him, of Han, and Luke. Let them take care of you, because they want to. You don’t have to be alone.”

Anakin hovers behind her, smiling, but distant, respectful. He admitted his darkness when Leia needed him to. She remembers him helping guide her back from the dark. Maybe Luke’s right. 

“I’m not-” Leia’s voice struggles to have any volume, “-I’m not alone.”

“No,” Padmé smiles, amused, and looks towards the door. Leia can’t make her eyes focus that far, but the Force tells her that Luke, Han and the baby are back. 

“Little guy stayed asleep the whole time. Must be as tired as you are,” Han says, walking to the bed without seeing the ghosts. Maybe they’re not there. Leia’s definitely tired enough to hallucinate. He leans close, showing her that the baby’s still fast asleep. “Should have seen the fuzzball get all mushy over him. Said he’s the cutest bald little baby he’s ever seen.” Studies her face, catching something. “What?”

“Luke--”

“I see them,” he says, standing back. “Our father, and our mother.”

“There’s enough Force, Ani says, I don’t know long it’ll last,” Padmé explains. “I’m just so glad I can see you and your sister.” 

“Your parents?” Han repeats. Leia starts to pull herself up on the pillows, because she needs to see them, and Luke. He holds the baby in the crook of one arm and helps steady her shoulders. When that doesn’t seem like enough, he sits next to her, letting her lean against him. “They’re here?” 

“Anakin, and Padmé,” Leia says. Touching his mind, she listens for the Force Anakin mentioned. It does fill the room, maybe because there’s so much power in the moment, or because she and Luke have been so emotional. Maybe they were enough to bring them. She looks at her husband, smiling at his hazel eyes, and opens herself, sharing her connection to the universe. 

“Just look at him, Ani,” Padmé says. “Look at his ears.”

“Sorry,” Han says, almost on reflex. “I think those are from my side.” 

“They’re adorable,” Padmé insists. Her eyes meet Han’s, and her expression turns to wonder. “How can you-?”

“Leia,” Han says, shrugging. “She does something and then all you ghosts are here.” 

Padmé reaches for him, and the baby, but she can’t touch them, can’t be solid like Obi-Wan was, but her smile makes her glow. “I am so happy for you. So very happy, and I love you.” 

If that’s meant for Han, or the baby, or all of them Leia can’t be sure, because they’re all together. Baby asleep in Han’s lap, Han half-holding her. 

“And you, Luke.” 

Luke nods, his smile trembling, and he’s not out of tears. None of them are. Han kisses her cheek, and then holds her, closer with the baby. She didn’t even realize she was crying until he smiles, then brushes her cheek. 

“I love you both, and I am so sorry that I never held you.” 

Anakin takes her hand, uniting their energies. “We both are.” Then they smile, and disappear, fading into the Force all around them. 

Leia reaches for Luke, wanting him there, closer, and then all four of them are in the bed, holding each other, with the baby in the middle, still fast asleep. They stay like that, Luke and Han sitting on the bed with her while she falls asleep. She drifts, acutely aware of the baby, and what he needs. He wakes before dawn, snuffling before he mewls. Leia drags him to her breast, her hands are stronger after however long she’s slept. 

Luke appears from the chair where he’s been sleeping, leaning over Han, who’s awake a moment later. 

“He’s hungry,” she tells them. Trying to determine how to ease her breast into his mouth, Leia gasps when baby finds it, latching on so much harder than she thought someone so small could do. 

“Does it hurt?” Han wonders into the back of her head. 

“I don’t know.” 

Luke brushes her head with his hand, then returns to the chair. “Maz gave us a stack of diapers, when we need them. Han’s been practicing.”

“They’re complex,” Han mutters in defense. She rubs his arm, guiding it around her and the baby. 

Diapers are indeed complicated, and being exposed to the air is the only thing baby hates. He’s too curious, too wide-eyed, to be frustrated for long. Watching Han and Luke struggle with the diaper and baby’s little legs makes her laugh, and even though that reminds her how sore she is, she’s healing. 

* * *

Leia doesn’t change a diaper until Ben’s three days old. The name comes slowly as well, she and Han can’t decide, and though Han suggests naming her for her father, it’s not right. Doesn’t fit. They probably would have argued for months, leaving baby to be called something in Shyriiwook. Leia sees so much of his father in their son’s face, that she nearly argues that he also should be Han. 

Luke calls him young Ben first, in jest, because his eyes seem so deep, and that sticks. Old Ben is how they met, and he’s been invaluable when she was afraid, when they needed help with the mysteries of the Force. It’s a good name, not too big, not full of destiny. Perhaps little Ben will be able to chose his own. 

She’s barely left the bed either. Han or Luke bring her food, Maz visits to fuss over her and bring her old novels so long out of print that Leia’s never even heard of them. Han reads to her, and Luke does, and sometimes she reads to Ben, because he can’t get enough of them speaking. He sleeps on her chest, on Han’s, and the warm, soft air seems just enough that he can lie naked against her without being cold. 

Han won’t let her near work, but he reads her the notes of congratulations that come flying in. Those from the other government representatives are formal, and he mocks their fancy accents when he reads them. Most from the military, people they know better, are sweet, even enthusiastic. Shara and Kes Dameron send a video of little Poe asking when Ben can come play with him and Leia has to stop crying before they can write back. Those from the Alderaani colony, and those she knows who have shared the death of their planet, are often too emotional, and Han spends much of his time holding her as she cries over Ben. He’s the last prince of Alderaan, legacy of a whole lost world, and so many people see his birth as hope for the future. 

She has to write back. Han handles the formal ones, because he’s learned to sound like her in a polite message, and it’s one of the kindest things he’s done. Leia dictates some of them, helping him with the most formal grammar, usually over Ben’s head while he nurses. He tugs, and at first it hurts, really stings, and Han holds her while she cries in the shower, because how can it hurt to feed their baby? 

The pain fades, maybe her nipples toughen. On the fourth day, when they sit outside, watching the water and trees, the cracks in her nipples have started to heal. Ben’s nearly always eating, and when he starts, she’s drowsy and thirsty. She has to give him both breasts most of the time, and he eats like a starving rancor. She worries. Maz promises it’s fine, that his belly is small, and empties quickly. Han reassures her, but he worries, and Maz has to remind them all that she has raised more infants in her long years that several humans could do over several lifetimes, and Ben is perfect. She knows so. 

Ben sleeps on her lap, in his father’s arms, on Luke’s chest or wrapped up safe against Chewie. Chewbacca teaches them how to wrap Ben in slings, to keep their arms free for climbing. Ben sleeps there best, bound to one of their chests while they eat, and talk, then finally when Han relents and says she can respond to her own communication. 

“Don’t know why you’d want to read all that,” he teases, playing with Ben’s hair. “They’re still dull, and you’ve been sent more than you could possibly read.” 

Leia smirks, leaning against him in the soft sunshine. “We have to go back eventually.”

“Do we?” Han asks Ben in mock concern. Ben doesn’t answer, so he takes that in the positive. “Ben doesn’t think so.”

“He doesn’t think of much besides sleeping and my breasts-” Leia begins, but he interrupts.

Chuckling, Han leans in to kiss her. “Can’t blame the kid for that. Those are pretty fantastic things.” 

“They still hurt.” That complaint earns her another kiss, this one gentler. He knows about the cold packs, the seemingly endless slow leaking as her uterus recovers, and the contracts that bring it back to normal. She’s still tender, almost everywhere, and even using the refresher is a chore. 

Ben’s worth all of it. Seeing Han with him, watching Luke tell him stories, listening to Chewie sing him to sleep: she knows he’s as loved by them as he is by her, and she can’t begrudge the physical consequences. 

Luke’s especially careful with her, gentle. They have to talk, because she drew so close to the Dark Side that she can still hear it whispering at her, but there’s no pain anything like what she went through. So it’s impotent while it waits. He’s careful to embrace her, to smile, to make sure she’s not afraid. She isn’t. Ben’s needy presence outweighs her selfishness, and she’s so tired that she’d make a poor vessel, in between naps. That the will have to discuss, maybe with Han as well, because he felt it. She used it to touch him. Even if she meant no harm to Han, she caused pain, magnified suffering, and worse, shared her own. 

She wouldn’t blame the smugglers and pirates from fleeing the sight of her, but even pirates can’t resist a baby, and some of Ben’s first gifts are from eclectic characters. 

When she worries too much, Luke brushes her mind, warm and reassuring. She resisted, she turned away when she needed to. They’ll talk about it, work it out together. They have time. Ben will never be this small again, and that, she can’t waste worrying about the Force, or galactic politics. 

She sets aside the data reader, lets her thoughts still, and curls up next to Han in the sun. Ben’s little face scrunches in his sleep and she reaches for his tiny fingers. They’re so long, and maybe his hands will be like his father’s. She’s always loved his father’s hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading and commenting, it's been lovely writing this fic and having such a positive response. I think there's one, maybe two more chapters where they go home Leia and Luke talk about her brush with Dark Side, and Han and Leia get to be parents, because they'd be adorable. 
> 
> I wanted this chapter to be mainly gentle, after all the intensity of the last one. Thanks again!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han and Leia figure out how to balance their schedules with the baby, and talk about her Force powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again everyone! One more chapter after this, on Yavin with the Damerons.

Chewie fusses, tucking in the edges of a shawl around Ben’s sleeping little form. 

“I almost had it,” Han protests. Chewie laughs at him, which is so very helpful. “And Ben’s fine.”

Tilting his head, Chewie continues to mock him with stories of his own prowess as a father, because he took to it immediately. 

“I’m doing okay,” Han reminds him, gesturing at the bundle wrapped against his chest. “He sleeps pretty well.”

Chewie rumbles that sleeping is all the kid does. 

“Yes, Wookiee pups are more interactive,” Han replies, getting to his feet before the lack of movement wakes Ben up. He’s pretty fun in the little moments where he’s awake, but he’s not a happy guy when he’s awake long enough to get hungry without Leia in the immediate vicinity. Leia’s still acclimating to Ben needing her breasts every two hours or so, all day and all night. The breast pump’s so far unused in the _Falcon_. It’ll wait. Maz says it’s not difficult, and Shara used hers for over a year. Leia will work it out. 

“I’m sure he’ll get more interesting,” Han assures Chewie, pacing slowly in the cool shade near the castle. “He hasn’t been around that long.” He could stare at Ben’s face all day, even when he’s asleep. Even watching his eyelids twitch in sleep fascinates him. When his eyes are open, they’re so much like Leia’s. His fingers wrap around Han’s so easily, and he stares in a way that does something to his heart. 

Holding him does something to his chest where it’s too warm and too tight and Leia might be the only person in the universe who understands. Probably all the parents, really. Stroking Ben’s back through the scarf, he grins at Chewie. 

“He’s pretty cute, even without enough fur.”

“He is quite furry for a human,” Maz says, plotting her next move as she stares over the pieces. She’s up by several pieces, and she’ll probably win again. Chewie never threatens to pull her arms off. “Perhaps he gets that from you. Obi-Wan said it took Luke months to grow more than a little hair.”

With his hand on Ben’s back, Han feels his quick heartbeat. “Leia’s has always been long. The holos of her as a little girl are pretty cute, with her hair falling down her back.” 

Chewie makes his move and the Dejarik board squeals as one of Maz’s pieces dies. He rumbles his joy, then reminds Han how many holos they’ve taken of Ben. 

“Lando had to see him, and the Damerons, Mon Mothma, half of Rogue Squadron. Maybe all of Rogue Squadron. Kid has a fan club.” As he should, he’s the best baby to exist. Han knows that’s not logical, but he could watch Ben’s toes wriggle all day. 

“It is good to share joy,” Maz adds, taking two of Chewie’s pieces with one well-executed move. 

Chewie laughs, throwing back his head. He studies the board for so long that Han walks over with Ben, looking at the pieces. Maz has him tied in knots, which is typical for their Dejarik games. Never bothers Chewie to lose to her. When he beats her, the celebrations usually last a week or so. 

“You left yourself open,” Maz reminds him. “You so often forget to defend.”

Chewie teases her, because it’s her charm that makes him so defenceless. 

“This is why you are my favorite boyfriend.” Maz flicks back her glasses and grins, arms folded over her chest. She tilts her head towards Han. “The war took much from everyone, your son is something positive that came from it. He reminds them that they can also move on, be happy. This is the happiest I’ve known you, Han Organa.” 

He smirks, because losing his name isn’t something he thought would make him happy, but the old Alderaan tradition makes him Leia’s, and that he loves. He is hers, tied to her like the little guy on his chest. Happiness warms his chest, and Ben’s sleepy fingers wrap around his little finger. The kid grabs in his sleep, and it’s still the cutest. 

Han’s thoughts must have been so loud and happy that Leia touches him, brushing across his mind. Luke’s been practicing with her, working on her control, and Han’s been the test creature enough times in the last week that he knows her attention when its turned on him. This isn’t a summons, she’s not pulling. Maybe just saying hello?

“She likes to know you’re here,” Maz explains, because it’s all very apparent to her. She probably even shares some understanding of what Luke and Leia have been working on together for the last hour or so. “She’s tired.”

He knew that. She’s still healing, and more sore than she lets on. She sleeps when Ben does, but that’s fractured all night and not enough during the day. She’s never been good at napping, even when she’s bone tired. Now, with an infant and a brush with the Dark Side that she can’t stop punishing herself for, she sleeps terribly, when she sleeps at all. She’s had nightmares for as long as he’s known her, Leia turning in bed isn’t new, but she hasn't had this much guilt in her eyes since Alderaan. 

“She’s too hard on herself.” Han shifts his weight, rocking back and forth with Ben. “None of them even remember what happened. Most of your guests have been through worse than a moment of labor pain.” 

Maz leans against the side of the Dejarik board, her black eyes deep. “Those affected have recovered, and mind control often leaves an emptiness behind it, but Leia sees the larger truth. She has given her life to protect others from tyranny, becoming that which she despises, however short the time, has shaken her. Luke will help with that, and you, and your sweet little boy, but that will take time.” 

“Well, kid,” Han mutters to Ben, “good thing we convinced your mother to take her whole leave.” 

“And she should, the galaxy can be responsible for itself for a while, as it was before Leia Organa was born,” Maz says. She smiles, then rests her chin on her hands. “They’re coming back. Can you feel them?”

Resisting the urge to protest that he can’t feel the Force, Han stares at Ben’s little fingers and tries to focus. The chances of him hearing Leia are remote, navigating an asteroid field would be easier, but Luke says they’re connected. Leia gets strength from him, and if that’s true, if he can give anything to her, he will. Not that he knows how.

Ben roots for his fingertip, sucking it while he waits for his mother. He’ll start to fuss soon. Maybe thinking of Ben makes it easier to feel Leia, because she brushes against his mind, soft and weary. Without thinking, he stretches back, offering his support, and his affection. He can't actually reach her. It’s foolish trying, isn’t it? 

She touches, _grasps_ , his mind with a strength that stills him. For half a moment, maybe less, Han’s aware of being her: the persistent ache of healing muscles and tissues, her heavy breasts and creeping headache that follows her training when she pushes too hard.

The physical seeps over Han, through him, and beneath that lies her guilt, far heavier, and more painful. Her self-recrimination washes over him, becoming his own, because she hurt people, overwhelmed them, took their freedom. Leia has fought all her life to protect others and here, she wobbled. No one blames her, pain and power is a difficult combination, and she resisted. Leia holds herself to a higher standard; has a self-imposed duty to the galaxy and everyone in it, and her pain tears at him, raw, like scorched skin. Like all guilt, this drags, irresistible as a black hole. 

He’s done many things he isn’t proud of, and having his family doesn’t erase his past, but makes it hard to regret any of it. Even being hunted by Jabba the Hutt led him here, holding his son. Can he give her that? It’s not deserving or goodness; compared to Leia he’s such a small part of the peace, but he’s happy, and he won’t feel bad. He can’t. Not with Ben sucking on his finger and Leia--

He loves her and that’s easy to send back. It doesn’t take explaining or rationalizing. Han loves her enough that it’s always there, unquenchable, and he does not feel guilt for anything that brought him her. He can’t. She is imperfect, they are, and he loves her. She has reordered her universe so she is his constant, more than gravity or the speed of light, there’s Leia. 

He can’t send that to her, can’t respond the way she does, so he lets her in. Baring his heart, his fears, and his unshakable belief that this, that them, that their son, is the most wonderful occurrence. Love is warmth: Leia’s mouth against his neck, Ben sleeping in his arms, Luke laughing, Chewie hugging him close, Lando bringing back the _Falcon_ , and that is stronger than the Dark Side, or self-recrimination. 

It’s not even a conversation, just light, pouring out of him and racing towards her, as if her guilt will consume this, but it can’t. This is part of the infinite, and maybe that’s the Force, in everything, like Luke always says. Luke’s there, full of hope and love. Feel that, Han wants to shout across the the nether-space, listen to that. 

Whatever that is, was, it passes in an instant, and he’s thrust into his own skin again with he warm weight of Ben against his chest. The baby scrunches his little pink face, but continues to sleep. 

“Hey,” he whispers, stroking Ben’s cheek. “Don't know if you felt that, but we need to think of some good things for your mother.”

Maz slips off the bench and walks to him, reaching up to touch Ben’s tiny foot. “You, Han Solo, used the Force to respond to her.”

“Leia found me,” he says. Maybe Maz can explain it. He couldn’t actually use the Force, right? It’s just Leia reaching him, and maybe she can hear a little. 

“Luke’s asking her to confront her fears, and her guilt, so she can let go.” She pats Ben, then looks up at him, seeing through, the way she does. 

“It’s like she was drowning.” Han looks towards the woods, checking for Luke and Leia. “Is it like that often?” She’d been exhausted yesterday when she’d come back from meditating with Luke, and he’d been willing to believe it was just the physical toll of healing after the birth, and breastfeeding. Maybe he’d had it backwards, and Ben was the easy part of this. 

“She’s shaken, all the way to the core of what she believes,” Maz explains, following his gaze with her ancient eyes. “It takes time to become level again.”

“She has time,” Han says, wishing he could help Leia with that. “She has as much time as she needs. The Senate can wait for her to get back. They never get anything done, even when she’s there.” 

Ben releases his finger, fussing a little before Han starts rocking back and forth, calming him with the motion. “I know you’re hungry, little guy, mom’s on her way back.” Ben needing to eat has helped a little, because she can’t train longer than an hour or so before she’s needed. It’s trading one duty for another, but feeding Ben is more positive. 

Sucking Han’s finger again, Ben settles, content to wait for a little while longer. Han focuses on Ben, and the warmth holding him makes. Maybe Leia can pick that up and know she’s wanted; that she’s loved. 

Luke and Leia emerge from the trees, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Leia smiles when she sees him, but her eyes are swollen. He can’t get to her fast enough, hurrying over, with his hands steadying the little guy. 

He kisses her forehead, holding her close to his side while Chewie helps unwrap the little guy. He hates thrusting him on her like that, but he’s hungry, and nursing calms them both. 

“I felt you,” he whispers to her. “I know you’re upset.” 

Leia shuts her eyes, wrapping her arms around Ben as they hand him over. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” he kisses her forehead. “Don’t apologize. It was a moment, and I’m fine. Come on, sit down, feed the little guy. We’ll work it out.”

“Han’s right,” Luke adds, patting her shoulder. “You projected for an instant, but you pulled back. Leia, you focused on the light, let it guide you. That’s healthy. Safe.” 

Han walks her over to the picnic blanket where he and Chewie have been waiting. Leia sits, Ben in her arms, and there’s something so soft, so vulnerable in her dark eyes that he sits beside her, then pulls her in. Leia folds against him, Ben in her arms. She sit crosslegged between his knees, her back against his chest. Ben’s half-awake mewling softens as she helps him latch into her breast. She stiffens for a moment, and it must still sting. He strokes her hair, running his fingers over the simple braid while her milk starts to flow. 

The baby makes tiny sucking sounds, filling his belly. His fingers squirm on Leia’s breast, pink against her pale skin. 

Luke sits a meter away, watching with a soft smile. “You tried to project back.”

“Not really,” Han insists. He couldn’t. He’s Force-useless. “I just tried to think of what Leia might need.” 

“It was beautiful,” she says, her voice soft enough that Luke must have only barely heard her. “I didn’t know you could, but you did that for me.”

“Didn’t think it would work,” Han says, kissing the back of her head. “But you got the message.”

“You’ve formed a bond that should be impossible,” Luke explains, shaking his head. When he’s confused, or bewildered, he’s that farm boy again, not the last Jedi Master. 

“Not impossible,” Maz interjects, walking over to Luke and joining him on the blanket, “Simply out of style. The Jedi were not always the lonely knights and masters of the last days of the Old Republic, hundreds of years ago, when Yoda hadn’t become master, Jedi married, had children, and the galaxy was no less protected.”

Raising his eyebrows, Luke smirks. “That’s not in the records.”

“Of course not. Only in complete deprivation from love can a Jedi be trusted to love everyone equally,” Maz replied, sniffing her disdain. “What good is equal love, this so called, boundless compassion, if you are kept from the love of a child, or the peace of finding a true partner. It is self-aggrandizing drivel.” 

That and Maz’s little snort of frustration made Leia chuckle, and some of the tightness in her posture eased. 

“It is Jedi law.”

Luke shifts, arms around his knees. "It is Jedi law." 

"Jedi law dictated more than four hundred years ago, by masters long dead." Max glances skyward, as if someone can hear her just by virtue of her thinking of them. "As if marriage would make someone more vulnerable to the Dark Side."

Han stokes the back of Leia's neck, beneath her braid. She turns, trying to find him so he moves to his left, making it easier. "It's okay, princess."

Leia looks at Ben, then back at him. "I wouldn't have given this up, him, you. I can't."

"You don't have to," Luke promises, sliding closer. "You don't. Hiding his feelings for our mother led Anakin down a dark path. If the Order had been different, if he could have talked about his fears, perhaps he would not have turned. Fear is just as dangerous as anger, perhaps more so."

"I was afraid," Leia says, lifting Ben from one breast and moving him to the other. balance is important in nursing as well as the Force, it seems. Ben fusses a little, protesting the change until he settles, returning to his meal. "It hurt, and it had already hurt for such a long time. I didn't think I could handle it if it kept going." She pauses, her breath shuddering. "I didn't want to." 

"No one blames you," Luke says, smiling his real site, not the Jedi Master one. "You were in labor more than a standard day. Ben shifted your bones. If I'd had your abilities after Vader took my hand, I would have dumped everything I had into him, just so I didn't have to feel it." Her twin holds her gaze, his expression gentle. "You're the bravest person I know," he finishes. "The toughest, and this isn't going to happen again. We'll work through it. When Ben gets a little sister, or brother, we won't even worry about this. You'll have all the control you need.”

“You think you’re getting another nephew?” Leia teases, and there’s finally some lightness in her voice. “Han, did you know about this? Luke wants another one.”

They share a look over Ben’s head, and she kisses him, lingering with her mouth against his. 

“I think we did okay with this one,” Han begins, his voice light even though his throat starts to tighten. He can’t possibly love more than this. “We might be able to, talk about another one, maybe, if Luke’s good,” he finishes, reaching out to grab the big kid with one arm and pull him in tight. 

“Maybe he can carry her.” Leia mutters, and then they’re all hugging, again, Ben in the middle. 

Luke probably would, if that was an option, and he loves that the farmboy. He’s selfless and loves with the biggest heart. While Leia’s out saving the galaxy, Luke loves it, one person at a time. 

"Don't worry so much," Han says to Leia, watching her tuck her breasts away. "You're good at everything, even the Force." 

"I am not." She hands the baby to Luke, who's there, and quickly becoming good with a newborn. 

"Right." He pulls her in, holding her close because she needs that. She’s the shelter for Ben, his link to the world, but at the same time, she also needs to be safe. Leia remains, quiet against his chest while Luke and Chewie talk about how to make sure Ben got the air he gulped out of his belly. Maz unpacks their lunch and vanishes somehow, because when Leia looks up from his chest, they’re alone. 

Taking a napkin from their lunch, he dries her eyes, and pats her nose, because it always runs when she cries. She smiles at him, and her regret’s starting to fade. 

“We’re going to Yavin tomorrow,” he announces while she eats. “The Damerons promise they want the company, and they’ve got a kid, so they get it. Shara said she’ll be happy to listen to all your complaints about your breasts, and other parts of you hurting. You could use that. You’re going to use all of your leave, because you need it. We need it.”

Leia stops devouring her lunch, swallowing quickly because she wants to protest but she still has those princess manners. “You’re fine,” she argues, “you could work.”

Lying down on the blanket next to the food, he grabs some bright purple fruit and starts peeling. “I’d rather stay with you and the kid.”

“Han--”

“I don’t like working,” he jokes, tossing a piece of rind in her direction. “All those idealistic military leaders, all excited because we won the war and we’re bringing peace to the galaxy, one trade route at a time.” 

“You’re very good at what you do for the Republic,” Leia insists, missing the point of his protest. 

Sitting up, he kisses her cheek, leaving a bright purple mark from the juice. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it because I wasn’t good at it. Maybe I’m too good.” 

She rubs her face, but that only smears it more and he chuckles. 

“You’re beautiful.”

“You’re changing the subject.” 

“I’m stating an important fact for the record before returning to the subject at hand.” Leaning in, he takes a napkin and rubs the mark off of her cheek. “I like being with you, and the little guy. I think you’d benefit from having me around, and unless you have a nanny picked out, I’m going to consult, part-time, very part-time, until the little guy’s big enough to go the nursery with the other senator’s kids. That’s what I want.” 

“Diapers and meeting me in senate chambers so I can feed him?”

He hands her a piece of the incredibly delicious, very messy fruit, getting purple all over her hands in the process. “Yeah.” Kissing her cheek, he pulls back and tilts his head, smiling his best cocky space pilot smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“It’s not.” Leia touches his face, and she’s about to cry again. “I just-” she sighs, shutting her eyes. “I love you.” 

“You keep saving the galaxy, sweetheart, the kid and I will figure things out. I’ll have Chewie, and Luke, and Lando’s great with kids. He sings, he knows lots of stories.” Han strokes the back of her hand, and he can’t make this smile fearless. He cares too much. “This is what I want, what I’ve wanted since we started trying for the kid. You, me, and little moon jockey. Being with him is a great thing, better than smuggling spices and running from bounty hunters, and I’d much rather have to change all the diapers than sit through your meetings.” 

“They aren’t that bad.” She can’t say that with much enthusiasm. 

“You have stuff you need to do, and I want to make sure you get to do it, because you’re making the whole damn galaxy better. I like to think that you and the kid teaming up helps you with that.”

“ _Stuff_?” 

“Important, politically sensitive, diplomatic stuff,” he corrects, pulling her into his lap again. “You, Senator Organa, are essential to the functioning of the Republic, and I love that about you. Ben’s going to love that too. You’re a hell of a role model.” 

Running her fingers down his arm, she relaxes, letting go of the tension in her shoulders. “So are you.”

“Thanks,” he replies, smirking into her hair. “I’ve always thought so.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia and Han talk about what happened while she was in labor, Leia remembers her parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to add another chapter, but my brain's running off with me in other directions, and I like how this one ends so I'm just going to call it complete. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!

After all the work Han put into Ben’s baby bed for the _Falcon_ , he barely uses it. He’s hungry when they leave Takodana, so he’s attached to her breast until they go to lightspeed, then the _Falcon_ flies smooth and true, so there’s no reason to put him down. Han reaches out his hands after she’s done feeding him, and passing Ben over almost seems natural.

He’s so sleepy-content after he’s been fed that she almost wants to keep him, but he eats so much, so often, that it’s a relief to hand him to his father, Luke, or Chewie. Then her hands are free, and she feels half-human, not just a bantha, producing milk on demand. Which still hurts, sort of, she can’t really call it pain but it’s not what she imagined when Doctor Kalonia went through nursing with her. Her nipples aren’t bleeding anymore, but they ache, or maybe it’s her breasts. Bacta plasters and ice packs help the rest of her heal but it’ll take time more than anything. 

It would be nice to sit without finding new aches in her hips, or stand without shifting her weight because her lower back is just different after Ben tore it apart with the back of his head. Leia thought giving birth would return her body to her, but she’s a different mind in a different body. She loves her son so much that her chest throbs and she can’t stop watching his little face, but it’s still wonderful to hand him to Han. 

Han cradles him with one arm as he checks the hyperdrive and leans back, content. He strokes Ben’s cheek, then mutters to him about Luke cooking dinner and her eyes sting, then water, and when Han looks over at her, she’s already crying. 

He offers the rag he just used to burp Ben and it smells faintly of warm milk, which everything smells like, but she takes it. 

“Good crying?”

“Good crying,” she agrees. Leia sniffs and that doesn’t make it stop so she gives up. The strange half-cramping of her belly still twists, and she lacks the words to explain any of it, because ‘tired’, ‘sore’ and ‘infatuated’ usually don’t go together. 

Ben’s tiny fingers wrap around Han’s and he murmurs to him, staring down at his eyes with such affection that stopping crying is a lost cause entirely. 

She suspected he’d be good with the baby. He was so patient, so kind with Poe, and though he’d never admit it, he was one of their best commando instructors. He protected Luke, and her, and he’s so gentle when she needs him. Suspecting isn’t seeing, isn’t knowing, and she lacks words for him and how grateful she is. She kisses his cheek, holding him close before she stands, stretching her back. He doesn’t have to see her to hear the wince. 

“Still sore?”

“It’s better.”

“You did a number on your mother, kid,” he remarks to the baby, wrapping him up in a bright green shawl Maz gave them as a parting gift. When Ben’s bound and secure, he leaves the pilot’s seat, touching her shoulders, then her arms. “Give it time, okay? You don’t have to be healed right away. That was hard, worse than getting shot on Endor, or that concussion Luke gave you.”

She smirks. Before she was pregnant, Luke Force-threw her into a wall harder than she was ready for and she saw stars for an evening before her brain stopped swelling. The headache was brutal for a few days, especially because soaking one’s head in bacta just wasn’t an option. This is similar. Bacta can assist the healing of her tissues, but the soreness lies deep. 

“You’re never going to let him forget that.”

Han tils her chin up to kiss her. “Nah, I like the look on his face.”

“You did this to me though,” she insists, pointing at Ben and then her soft, still rounded belly. “All that pain, could be considered your fault.” 

“Right,” Han says, shaking his head. “Well then, going to have to use the secret weapon.” He tugs the shawl open so she can see Ben’s sleeping face, his little lips pursed and red, his eyes all squinty. “He’s worth it.”

Han meets her eyes, then strokes her cheek. He kisses her, lingering, and through the Force she senses his warmth. Han’s affection echoes inside of her head, as if love could hum like an engine. Meeting his eyes doesn’t cover it, and she reaches back, letting him share the strange weight of her heart. 

“He’s worth it,” she agrees, breathing in him, and Ben, and the scent of home. There’s no doubt in Han’s mind, no creeping fear of her darkness. He saw the worst of her, her selfish desire to shove her pain onto everyone else, and he’s not afraid. He’s not even foolishly unafraid, because she’d know that. She’d feel that. This isn’t bravado or a misunderstanding. He accepts her, even embraces her lingering presence in his mind and the bond she’s dragged him into. 

He kisses her, because he must be able to hear her feelings. She’s projecting them loudly enough that Luke and Chewie must hear the sappiness of her heart. Han pulls her in, holding her beside Ben against his chest and again, the scent of him overwhelms her. He’s mixed with baby now, that newness, and strange milk sweetness. 

He rests his head on hers, waiting for her to calm before he suggests dinner. Not that it matters, she’s cried enough in front of Luke and Chewie that this is nothing new, but he’s careful with her. They all have been. Luke’s been so gentle, and Chewie just keeps stroking her head, which is the highest form of affection, Han assures her. 

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Luke does a good dinner, especially when Chewie helps.” 

“The wookiee’s the best cook,” she replies, stroking Ben’s sleeping head. “I wonder how often that happens.” 

“It’s the sense of smell,” Han says, guiding her towards the galley. “Means he picks the best spices.” 

* * *

After dinner, Ben sleeps on Luke’s chest in the lounge while Chewie beats him again and again in dejarik. Their laughter carries through the bulkhead while she lies on the bunk, watching Han shave his stubble. The soft hiss of the razor mixes with Han’s humming while he putters with the shaving soap. It’s lazy, domestic, and she’s not reading, not worrying about the Senate. She’s not even sure what day it is, because they’ve blended together. 

She hasn’t even touched the data reader she grabbed before she sat down. 

Han smirks at her in the imperfect mirror as he shaves a strip of the sweet-smelling lather from his face. 

“You’re not reading.”

She shakes her head, toying with the long simple braid she had pulled her hair into that morning. “Words aren’t making much sense.”

“That’s because it’s a novel,” he teases her. “It’s not what actually happened on a boring lunar survey. It’s supposed to be exciting.” 

Leia undoes the braid and slowly works her hair free. “I guess excitement wasn’t what I was looking for.” Dragging her fingers through her hair, she watches him lather his other cheek. 

“I don’t know if anyone ever wrote a novel about getting enough sleep,” he says, tapping the razor on the side of the sink. “Most parents would appreciate it though. You could write one. Keep you busy.”

She’s barely had to do anything all day, but sleep deprivation clings to her. Luke and Han help with diapers, all of them are very happy to hold little Ben, and though he needs her for food, but he’s a sleepy infant who is easily contented with a full belly and a warm chest. Leia’s not sure she could do much even if she was asked. Exhaustion blurs her senses, as if Ben’s birth has rearranged her mind as brutally as it altered her body. Her flesh, however changed, is hers again, even her aching, swollen, alien breasts, but her mind is still adapting, finding a way to cope with the new reality.

Leia knew Ben, she'd held him within her, but now that he's out, she has to get to know him all over again. He loves her, settles in her arms when she holds him, stares at her face with wonder. He knows his mother. Chewie says it's by smell. Luke insists that Ben knows the sounds of all of them because he reacts, snuggles closer, seems to know them. Maybe Ben felt them all around him. She doesn't know how much of the Force he understands, but her mother said when Leia was an infant, she had a sense for people that was never wrong. 

Her mother was exaggerating, of course, but Leia came to her parents a stranger. She had a power they could never understand, and even though that was buried, her parents must have felt it. Her mother didn't even hold her until she was two days old. Even once she did, Leia wailed, even when her father or mother held her. Leia had known the loss of her birth mother, and she'd been hard to settle for the first few weeks. She hadn't blamed her new parents for not being the mother she knew, she couldn't have, but the way she cried had been so painful. Breha said it was a foolish thing to worry about, that Leia knew she was loved, but at first, nothing could calm her. 

In that respect, Ben is easy. He knows all of them, and will stop crying when Han holds him. The only time he was truly inconsolable by anyone but Leia, was when he was hungry. Breastfeeding him drags her thoughts back to her mother. 

Curious at four when her aunt fed her cousin, she'd asked, if she'd been fed that way or if she'd had to always use a cup. Her mother picked her up and assured her that she'd ate just like her cousin, greedily, getting milk everywhere, because she was a very hungry baby. Leia had found that funny, because babies were little, how could they be very hungry?

Breha had told her, years later, that she'd worried about everything: if Leia would fit in on Alderaan, if she'd be happy, if being a princess was too much to ask of her, but feeding her had been something she felt they did right. She'd had two short days to coax her breasts to produce before Leia had arrived, and her breasts had ached and leaked and it seemed like it was the most foolish thing she'd done. 

Then she held her, listened to her cry for the mother who'd never had that chance, and Breha had said, _"at least I could feed you. You'd lost your mother, and you cried for her, day and night, for weeks. You were so small, the doctors thought you'd been early, but they couldn't be sure, and you seemed so delicate to have lost so much. Your father and I knew we weren't, could never be her, and we needed each other so much then because we felt like we'd failed you. You'd cry and cry, and we'd hold you but we weren't your birth mother. You didn't know us. We'd just brought you home, and already, we'd failed you."_

 _"But we made it through. When you started to smile at us, we'd made it, and when you laughed, we realised you loved us too."_

Her father could only listen to her mother laughing for a moment before he too would laugh, and they'd set each other off at the most inappropriate times, during meetings, when they were trying to read her stories. They'd been so happy, and they'd brought her into that, taken her from a war and sorrow and brought her home. They'd loved her, and Leia trusted that more than anything. Breha and Bail Organa taught her love, and family, and she'd lost that, lost everything she thought mattered. Yet now, she has a family. She has a home as good as the Palace of Alderaan on this bucket of bolts and there's love, so much love, and in the middle of all of it she can't fight the sensation of unworthiness. 

She brought the Dark Side in, touched the selfish side of the Force, hurt people. She didn't endure the long nights with an inconsolable infant that her parents did, and she didn't accept defeat and let Maz take her pain with drugs, she went to the Force and touched the darkness. Will it change things? Will she reach for that again if she's injured? If Ben was sick? She wipes hot tears from her eyes because it's too much. She has everything easy in Ben, he knows her, he loves her, and she still failed him. 

Han smiles at her gently in the mirror, his face all covered in lather. "Still good crying?" 

She nods, then shakes her head, and she should tell him her thoughts, find words that explain how much he means to her, how much she loves him and their son, Luke, and Chewie. How after losing her family, she has one again, and they're just as precious as her parents. Leia doesn't manage to speak.

He shaves a stripe clean on his cheek, watching her in the mirror, before he sets down the razor.

"I'm fine," she protests, but her voice is too high pitched. 

Crossing the cabin in a handful of strides, he kneels down in front of her. Han strokes her cheek with damp fingertips. "You don't have to be fine, I won't tell anyone if you're not."

Leia nods, again, but speaking's too difficult. She has every reason to be happy, and she is, there's no fresh sorrow in her chest. This isn't-- 

He kisses her forehead, leaving a cool mark of shaving soap, then he kisses her cheek and he's all around her, warm, and sweet-smelling, like Corellian hasawood. She touches his face, Han kisses her neck and then the soap's everywhere, all over both of them. He rocks back, resting on his knees next to the bunk. Han smirks, then marks her nose with lather. 

"Better."

Leia reaches for his face, tracing his stubble and smiling back when she finds the smooth patch. "Thanks." 

"You can tell me anything, princess, you know that."

"Feeding Ben reminds me of my mother." 

"That's good," he says, taking the towel from his shoulder. He daubs her face clean, then kisses her again, leaving more soap behind. "Your mother was a wonderful person, and she'd be so proud of you. Your father too. I bet they'd love him, he's the best baby the galaxy's ever seen." 

Han speaks with such sincerity that she wonders if her parents have found a way to speak through him.

Leia tries to smile at him. "She had it so much harder than I do. She didn't know I was coming, my father brought me home and I hated her." 

He snorts. "You were a baby."

"I didn't know she was my mother. I cried for a person she'd never met, that she could never give me, for weeks. She and my father always laughed about it when I was older, but they'd look at each other, and I knew."

"You knew?"

"They thought I hated them."

Han lifts himself from the floor, wipes his face in the towel and climbs into the bunk next to her. She leans into his chest before he even lifts his arm, and then she's safe. He strokes her hair, playing with her ear. 

"Your parents knew they were adopting you, and that your mother had died, and that because you were very smart even when you were tiny, would miss her. They knew all of that, and they loved you. It might have felt like you wanted someone else, but they knew better. Besides, Leia, you were a baby, it's okay if you wanted your mother. You didn't have to know they were your parents right away."

"But Ben knows. You pick him up and he knows you, when I'm near him, he's happy." 

"He's sleepy," Han teases, kissing her head. "He's always sleepy, or hungry." 

"Han--"

"Okay, okay, fine, parenting Ben is easier than parenting you was, because he's all of a week old and he doesn't hate us, and you're upset about that."

It sounds ridiculous when he says it. Leia sits up, shifting so she can hold his hand. "Not upset about that. I'm tired, and there's something wrong, I can feel it, but it's not Ben, he's perfect, and he loves us, I can feel that whenever he's held. He's so content." She stops, staring at the deck. "It's not him, I- I--" She has to shove the words up from her chest. "I had you, and Luke, and Maz and Force Ghosts, and you love me. All of you love me so much, and I still touched the Dark Side. I only had a few hours left, and I dragged everyone in the cantina into some kind of horrible--"

"Not me," he reminds her. "Or Luke, or Chewie, Chewie says he didn't feel it, and everyone just got quiet around him. I guess some of them cried or shook, but they were fine when you stopped. None of them remember, and the people who hang out in Maz's, they're smugglers, pirates. They've had worse. Most of 'em have had run ins with the Empire, or the Hutts, and you know what they're like."

"That doesn't make it all right," she says, fidgeting with his fingers. She doesn't deserve him or Luke, or anyone being so gentle. Someone should look at her and tell her it was wrong, that she misused her power. 

"Hey, sweetheart," he begins, hugging her closer. "Do you know how long you were in labor before that happened? I know you didn't look at the chrono, I didn't, but Maz said it was twenty hours, maybe more, before you did anything with the Force. That's a long time to have something hurt, anything, even a broken arm, and this was so much worse. You didn't know when it was going to end, and it kept getting worse, I don't know if I could have done it."

She turns, waiting to see his eyes. "You would have been fine." 

Han shrugs. "Maybe not, hate being tortured, not a big fan of the pain thing."

"But you don't give in."

"Maybe I would, if I had the power you do." He kisses her again, softening her worries with the warmth of his mouth. "You took it back, you know. You know how much pain you were in, how much you shoved away, and you took it back. That's one of the bravest things I've ever seen, and I'm surrounded by heroes of the New Republic."

"It was mine," she says, and Leia tries to look away because his eyes are too intense, too forgiving. "It was mine."

He hugs her, which is his response when she can't meet his eyes. It gives her time to think and he's warm, solid and secure, so it helps. "What did you do?" he asks, his voice soft above her head. 

"What do you mean?"

Han rests his chin on her head, and his heart thuds slowly near her cheek. She's so attached to that sound. 

He strokes her shoulder, then her arm. "When all of your pain came back, what did you do? How did you get through it? You weren't even having contractions anymore, it was just one unending kind of thing. You didn't even see me, or Luke, or anything. You were in my head, but I- I have no idea what that's like." 

Her memory of Ben's birth is already treacherous. It's blurry, half-formed, as if her mind tried to protect itself as it went on. "I remember you," she starts, pulling at the strings of her memories. "You talked to me."

"I rambled about nonsense because Obi-Wan said you could hear me." 

Leia pats his chest, then shifts to look at him. "I heard you. I think I threw up on you too."

He winces a little, and nods. That dry chuckle of his is the most endearing sound. "Yeah. You did, it was fine, I was all sweaty and that's none of my good shirts." 

"You were there," she says, searching her thoughts. "That's what I remember, you were there, and Luke, but you- I needed you." 

"You've got me," he reminds him, grinning. "Even if you don't remember it."

"You said I wouldn't want to."

"Probably not." 

Remembering early labor isn't difficult. Han's smile in the sunshine remains in her mind, and poor Luke, having to shut out her early contractions. After that, it's more confusing. She missed her parents, and Luke was there, and Maz, but Han's the constant. He never left. "Thank you." 

"Me?" Han holds her a little closer. "I had the easy part." 

"Maz said you're meant to forget, in case you're ever foolish enough to have another one" Leia remembers. Running her fingers over his cheek, she toys with the stubble he hasn't reached, then moves her fingers back to the smooth place. "I think I'd like that, someday." 

He laughs so hard that his chest bounces beneath her. "Really?" 

"Hey, parents, you want your kid back?" Luke calls from the doorway. 

"Is he screaming?" Han calls back. If he was, they would hear him, and Leia shakes her head. 

"He's asleep," Luke answers, grinning in the doorway. Ben's wrapped to his chest, and he'll sleep there for at least another hour until he's hungry. "Missed another thrilling dejabrik match." 

"Kid's too young to have taste," Han jokes. 

He doesn't get up, and she's grateful. She's not ready to part with his presence yet. 

"He'll root for Chewie when he's older," Han promises. He toys with her hair, threading his fingers through. She hasn't braided it again. Leia's barely taken the time to brush it in the past few days. She's as bad as Han and his almost-beard. 

"I just need Maz to teach me a thing or two," Luke teases. 

Han shakes his head and winds his hand deeper into her hair. "Oh no, she'll never tell you how to beat her boyfriend, she likes how only she can do that a little too much to share any tricks."

Luke wraps his hand around Ben's little head and smirks. "Thought that might be the case."

Han looks down at her, then nods. "Keep him, he's content. Bring him back when he's hungry. Unless you're sick of holding him, then I suppose you can give him back." 

Luke's lazy smile has none of the heaviness that has followed him since the Death Star. He's so easily happy with Ben. "I'll keep him then. He's not good luck, but it's nice holding him."

"It does something to your chest, doesn't it?" Han asks, trailing his fingers through the ends of her hair. "You hold him and you just don't want to let him go." 

"He's not even mine," Luke answers, staring down at Ben's dark little head. 

Leia shakes her head and shares a look with Han. He understands. 

"He's yours," Leia corrects Luke. He'll never have children. Rebuilding the Jedi will take that from him, but she can give him this. "You're part of me, and Ben, and he already knows you." 

"It's more like you're his," Han adds. His fingers squeeze her shoulder in agreement "Welcome to parenting, kid." 

Luke looks from Han to Leia, then back at Ben. He is willing to be his. They didn't even need to ask. She projects her love for Luke, for the three of them, because it's too much to hold in. Luke replies with his own feelings, and that's a rush of affection that blindsides her all the more. The Force pulses through her and surrounds her, like a hot bath. She opens her mind and guides Han into that sensation, letting him share the rush of love. 

Luke brushes her mind, bathing her in light and reminding her that no darkness in her their love can't chase away. 

Ben, of course, sleeps through the whole exchange. 


End file.
